


Justin's Excellent Adventure

by LadyJane_BBJFE



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Daphne is a good friend, Justin in Hollywood, M/M, Michael is a complicated friend, Rage, but Michael is basically a good guy, near rape of an original male character - not successful
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-19 17:12:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 49,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19137085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyJane_BBJFE/pseuds/LadyJane_BBJFE
Summary: Justin gets an opportunity in California. Brian handles everything perfectly well, thank you very much. Michael worries. Ben is amazingly patient and hot. Lindsay and Melanie fall apart, and no one is really surprised.





	Justin's Excellent Adventure

**Author's Note:**

> This was written 13-14 years ago, so parts may read a bit (or quite) dated. It has been edited for sentence level clarity, but no major story changes have been made from the original LJ posting.
> 
> Please note: Only the first/introductory section is Justin's/first person point of view. The bulk of the story is in third person narrative.

JUSTIN’S EXCELLENT ADVENTURE

_I: Prologue: Justin_

“I’ll have to think about it.” 

I could tell that Brian was really bothered by my response; he had just asked me to move back into the loft with him, after all. It was a big deal. He hesitated, bit the flesh inside the lower lip, his way of stopping the words from coming out before he’s thought about them. He thinks no one notices that, but I do; the lower lip slightly thins, and the skin just beneath his mouth indents slightly inward. Sometimes I wonder how much he hurts himself by biting down there. I’ve kissed him after one or two of these wordless self-mutilations, and tasted blood. I wish he wouldn’t do that. I wish there was a way I could let him know that he’s hurting himself a lot more than he would ever hurt anyone else by policing his immediate response, his natural emotional reaction, in that way. But Brian needs to figure out things for himself. 

God knows I've always had faith in him; he’s so fucking amazing, so fucking strong, and so fucking smart about everything else. The idea that he may never transcend the emotional limitations that have been imposed on him, that are not a natural part of his character, the real doubt that’s begun to creep over me, well, it’s been like a snake coiling just under my ribs, where my heart beats. I don’t know if Brian, as he is now, with the slow progress he’s been making, if that’s going to be enough in the long run for me. For us.

“I’ll have to think about it,” I say. And he bites that part of his flesh inside his mouth, and something changes in his eyes. They were so vulnerable; that I drew that look from him made me hate the position I was in, having to put him off. I hadn’t expected this, though – I’d practically been living in the loft as it was. Eventually I would have moved in without either of us acknowledging the change in my status. I can even imagine the conversation.

“That’s not a very sunny expression,” he would say upon arriving into the loft after work, coming to kiss me as I frowned over on-line ads for Pittsburgh rentals.

“Yeah,” I’d say, “Daphne’s giving up her lease with the end of the school year. So I need to find a new place to stay.”

“When’s this happening?” he’d say.

“Uh… three days.” I’m crafty like that. "I guess I procrastinated a little bit." Right.

He’s onto me, of course. But then, my pseudo-helplessness suits his own purposes, so he'd answer with something like, “Well, I suppose you could stay here while you look.”

So I’d haul my crap over, and then I’d pretend to look up roommates and other places to live. And then I would stay with him until we got into another fight, and I’d find somewhere to move and he’d let me. Or, more likely, he'd kick me out himself. 

Wash, rinse, repeat. 

That’s what I had expected. I had learned not to expect much from our relationship. And I was starting to hate that. 

I always have wanted the acknowledgement, the proof he cares about me. And here it is, in Brian’s way. He said he wants me to move in with him, and he’s actually asking me instead of just letting things take care of themselves. 

His request took me by surprise. 

When I was out at Brett’s place, and Brett asked about my “extra-marital” activities, I could feel my heart flutter, just a little, just enough to let me know damn well how much I love that other people assume Brian and I have that level of commitment. And the response I gave, the usual blather about being together because we want to be, not because we have to be… nobody forces anyone to get married, do they? It’s a choice. Divorce is a choice too – marriage, divorce, equally viable options. You do them because you want to, not because you have to.

See? It’s just plain logic. So Brian’s position about being trapped by marriage is completely illogical rhetorical bullshit. There are no locks on marriage doors. 

But language is a form of denying his real feelings, which he doesn’t trust. Take how he asked me to move back in with him. There he was, saying he’d do things differently. And just when I hoped he’d say he’d handle me, handle us, differently. I was hoping for him to make some sort of declaration. There I was, heart fluttering. And then he starts talking about redecorating the bedroom, and that he should have chosen a different color scheme. God, I am such an idiot. What did I expect?

But it’s so totally him to deflect like that, and I know it - but at that moment I wasn’t sure if I wanted to scream in frustration or just punch myself in the head. It was like when he downplays his role in his son’s life. Of course he means a lot more to Gus than just the man who teaches the kid how to dress. It’s the same thing as when he finally asked me to move back in – burying the one thing I wanted to hear beneath everything else, talking about his inconvenience, how this arrangement will make sorting socks easier for God’s sake… saying how he wouldn’t mind if I were around. How… yeah, I know, I’m not supposed to use the word, even in the negative. But there it is. How unromantic. As Brett commented when I repeated Brian’s bullshit spiel like some Kinney-fucked, Kinney-trained monkey, “How Rageian.” And he’s right. Those are Brian’s words. Not mine. Why do I want so much more? 

And the thing that really kills me is that I should know better than to expect any more than that. As I said when we got back together, I know what to expect. And I don’t expect more than that from him. 

But I do want more. 

So I asked him, are you proposing? As the words slipped out of my mouth, I realized, right then, how much more I do want . I do. His response, that swift, brutal, "of course not" – and I didn’t want him to see my expression. I pretended to rub my eyes, putting my hands over my face. Of course not. 

And so I put off telling him about accepting Brett’s offer to work out in L.A. I’ll have to tell him, soon enough. Michael will find out as soon as he talks to Brett, which mean Brian will find out one minute later. So I have to tell him first. I have to tell him soon. 

I know exactly how that conversation will go. I know what to expect, right? 

“Hey, Brian,” I’ll say. “Well, so, Brett’s given me this really great offer to go out to work on the movie as assistant art director.”

“Oh?” He’ll look at me, just watching, waiting. 

“Yeah, actually, and… I told him I’d do it.” 

“What about school?”

He would bring that up. I’ll answer, “It’s just, this is such a great opportunity, think of how it’ll look on my resume!” Something Brian would be sure to understand. Once again I’m speaking in Brian’s language, with his professional ambition accent. “And I can re-enroll at the Institute when the movie’s done. It’ll only be six months or so. I’ll be back in time for fall classes. And then I'll move in here, with you.” By that time, I'll have sidled up to him, probably rubbing something of his with something of mine. Doesn't matter what. Brian’s a slut, and I’m easy. It’s probably the main reason we get along. 

He’ll pause, watching me. Then he’ll make that slow nod, and he’ll bite the soft, tender flesh just beneath his lower lip. Of course, about thirty seconds into this conversation, he’ll have already made up his mind that I won’t be coming back. 

I’ll want to yell at him, “Give me more! More than that fucking ‘I wouldn’t mind having you around,’ more than 'of course not' when I ask if you're proposing! Something, anything! I know this is huge for you, asking me to move in, but I’ve compromised myself for you, changed myself for you, never ask for flowers, am happy as shit when we end up actually eating Chinese food on the floor even if we never do call it a floor picnic, I accept the crumbs I get and right now I could use a crumb to think you would put up more of a fight than just tossing me off at the first counter offer I get to what you offer me! This isn’t Ian all over, is it? That was about romance, this is about a job. And you may say you understand the latter over the former, but the real issue is that it’s always going to be something, there’s always going to be something, and I would give it all up in a heartbeat if you just ask, _just ask_ , just once…”

I can hear my pathetic little speech play out in my head already. How many times has it played, different version, but basically the same speech, the same fucking humiliating, prideless plea, please, Brian, god, please take a leap of faith and help me out here, help us out here, compromise your rigid fucking illogical terror of emotional commitment and just once trust yourself enough, trust us enough to just tell me you love me, tell me you want me to stay! I’ve heard the echoes of this speech while riding the bus, working at the diner, waiting for classes to begin, babysitting Gus… everywhere. Bouncing around in my head. And that’s where it will remain this time too. I’ll be screaming at Brian in my head, when all I’ll actually say to him is, “Okay.” 

My mom has told me, and I know she’s right. No one changes for anyone else. They change because they have to. But I know that’s not true because I’ve changed for Brian. 

Only, have I? Essentially, have I changed, has my desire that he express his feelings in some sort of declaration, has that changed? Do I really accept him as he is, or am I still that little annoying stalker crushing on my idea of who I want him to be, waiting for him to become the fairytale Prince in the role I’ve cast for him in my fantasies? 

Oh fuck, fuck, fuck me, I am so fucked here. 

I know it would hurt him if I left. I don’t need that kind of proof anymore. And don’t get me wrong – I know how big this request is, that I move into the loft and live with him. But would he have made this offer at all if he had known about the counter proposal I had received just the day before from Brett? I seriously doubt it. He would have tossed me out in a second. Brett’s better for you, the movie’s better for you, everything’s better for you than me. 

He has to stop doing that to me. He needs to stop doing that to us. 

I want him to just get it – that what he offers me, his love, the community, the family I have here, is valuable, it’s important. I want him to have faith in what we have here, and I need the words that show he gets it. I need to hear that he has faith not just in me, but in us. 

The real problem, of course, is that he needs to always prove himself, because he doesn’t really trust himself, he doesn’t really have a great deal of faith in himself. So how can he count on us, when he’s part of that? So we need to keep proving, over and over, that “we” are reliable, and that we are important. 

And I’m just so fucking tired of it. Because I’m a part of this “we” too. And it feels like I have to keep fighting him. 

I want him to tell me he loves me. I know not to expect that, not ever. I want to think he would ask me into the loft even if he knew about the other offer I have. I want to believe that he believes in what’s between us. I want the words to be there in the air between us, binding us together in a way that two bodies can’t, unless they’re making love. Sadly, even WE can’t be in each other all the time. Fucking always ends at some point. But words, once they’re out there, they’re always there, in memory if nowhere else.

And that’s what I think marriage is. It’s the words, “performatives,” they’re called. Words that actually perform action. The speech makes whatever you’re saying so. “I do,” and you’re married. Special words, they're not just bullshit. 

I know I’m expecting too much. But I know what I want.

 

II

_A Junk-Food Fueled Heart-to-Heart_

“He asked you to move in with him?” Daphne asked her sometimes-roommate, who leaned against the foot of the couch, and accepted the pint of Coffee Heath Bar Crunch ice cream before he handed off the Cherry Garcia to her. It was a weird combination, but it worked. Kind of like the two of them. 

“Yeah, can you believe it?” Justin answered, sucking in the pink ice cream.

“And you said…” 

“That I’d think about it.”

Daphne paused, and then looked up from where her spoon was digging around a chunk of Heath. “What do you mean, you said you’d think about it?”

“Well, I am your roommate, just moving out suddenly would be kind of rude…”

Daphne snorted. “Yeah, right. What’s the real reason?”

Sometimes it sucked, having a friend who knew him that well, though it definitely saved time. Not having to defend himself, explain, backpedal, evade, say one thing while working his way to a seemingly unrelated point, that all was pretty convenient. And he could tell Daphne anything and not worry about it getting to sources he’d rather keep his opinions from. “Um, well, Brett offered me a job. Assistant art director on Rage, the movie.”

“Holy shit!” Daphne stared, wide eyed. “Wow! So, what, you’d like, move to California?” 

“Just for a few months. Well, six-ish.” Or eight-ish. Or more, Justin had heard about movie schedules, and he wasn’t an idiot. 

Daphne reached for the Cherry Garcia and handed the Heath Bar Crunch back. “So, what? What did Brian say when you told him about that?”

“Uh, well. I haven’t exactly told him that yet.”

Daphne stared at Justin. She said nothing. She just waited.

Justin stared back. Then he stood abruptly, avoiding her stare. He walked over to his coat, and took a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket. 

“Hey, don’t smoke that shit in here,” Daphne said. Justin just raised an eyebrow as he withdrew a joint from the pack and waved it at her. “Oh,” she said, a smile lighting up her face. “Okay, that’s okay.”

“Yeah, I know,” Justin said, lighting it up. He puffed on it, and then walked over to lie back on the couch, before handing the joint to her. “I think we did this wrong. It should be joint first, ice cream second.”

Daphne shrugged. “We still have Dove bars and Hagan Daz Crème de Leche in the freezer.”

“Chips?”

“Salt and Vinegar and barbecue. You said you had a Brian crisis, I happened to be shopping when you called."

"I said I had a personal crisis, not a Brian crisis."

"There's a difference?"

"Daphne..."

"Yeah, anyway. Figured we’d need all this to fill the void.” She gestured at him with the bag of chips.

“You are the best. When you aren't the worst. Did you get…”

“Two six packs of Molson and a bottle of Stoly.”

“Molson? We’re flush this week?” 

“Got a check from home. I know you detest Budweiser, and if you’re going to pull the drama princess thing, the least I can do is supply the proper drinks. Hang on.” Daphne handed back the joint, walked to the kitchen and came back with two beers and the bags of chips. She sat down on the floor, and turned a scowl onto Justin. “Okay, now tell me why you’re being a complete moron and not talking to Brian about this?”

“I’m not being a moron, I just don’t know what to do.”

“You’re being a moron.”

“If I had told him about the job, he wouldn’t have asked me to move in with him in the first place.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do. He’d tell me the job sounded like what I wanted, good career move if that’s what I wanted, he wouldn’t hold me back from what I wanted, blah de blah blah blah. Everything else is so good for me to experience. Except for him. It’s never about what he wants. It’s never about us.”

“He wants you to move in with him,” Daphne pointed out. 

“Yeah, as long as he thinks I was a sure bet to say yes.” Daphne sighed, but Justin was steaming up to full rant mode. “You’d think he’d stick out his neck for us just once, but it’s like, he expects me to be him at that age. And even he’s not himself at that age anymore, so why should I be? He thinks I should fuck everyone else and take care of my own needs, even at his expense, even at _our_ expense, just steam ahead into my brilliant career and fuck anyone who gets in the way, oh, but, never fuck anyone more than once of course… so he still doesn’t really believe I’m really interested in being in a RELATIONSHIP, and fuck it if I won’t use the word. I can’t seem to figure out a way to make him hear me when I try to tell him in so many words: Brian, I am not you!”

Daphne washed down a salt and vinegar chip with her beer. She handed the bag to Justin, who took it morosely. “You’re both morons,” she declared, taking a final toke off the joint and passing it to Justin. He stubbed it out in the ashtray.

“Uh… there’s one other problem.”

“Yeah?” 

“I kinda told Brett I wanted the job. And I’d be coming back. To Hollywood. For the job. I kinda said yes.”

Daphne stared at him, biting back her initial response, deciding instead to lull him in before letting him have it. “Really. Why?”

Justin sighed. “I don’t know, really. Well, I do. It really is a great opportunity. And… I guess I was on kind of a high, I mean, just getting in from fucking Connor James…”

“YOU FUCKED CONNOR JAMES??!!!”

Justin giggled at her reaction. He had been looking forward to springing that on her.

“HE’S GAY??!!!” She stopped and scowled at him. “Oh, fuck you, Justin, you’re only trying to distract me.”

Damn, so close, but worth another shot. “Yup, he’s gay, and yup, he likes to take it up the…”

“Stop!! Stop, stop! Okay, I get it, you’ve sufficiently crushed another illusion. Of course he’s gay, I was far too attracted for him to be straight.” She shook herself to get back on point. “Doesn’t matter anyway, a buzz from fucking a celebrity is no excuse. You want to try explaining the real reason you didn’t discuss a major life decision with your life partner before making that big a commitment to a job across country?

“I don’t know if we are. Life partners.” The giggling had stopped. Justin was back to maudlin.

Daphne grabbed a handful of barbecued chips. “Oh, please. Frankly, I’m surprised you and Brian haven’t killed each other yet, but I’m getting close to doing it for you.” She took a long swallow of beer. “Which do you want, your relationship or Hollywood?”

“It’s not that simple,” Justin replied. 

“Why not?”

“Because,” he glared at her, “He tosses me out of his life like every other week. He won’t open up to me when major life shit like, oh say, cancer? happens. And lately, it seems we’ve been apart way more than we’ve been together. I mean, we’ll mention vacations but never actually take them – and I say mention because I can’t remember the last time we actually talked. The only quality time we’ve spent together in the last, what, months? was competing for a trick, and then, when Brian actually did get back on his feet, he was training for that bike ride thing.” 

“And you wish he were… riding you?” 

“Uh, no that’s fine. But maybe communicating?”

“Brian.”

Justin sighed. 

Daphne continued, “C’mon, you know how Brian is. It’s easier for him to just fall back into himself when things get nuts. He resists the Vulcan mind meld thing.”

“You’re such a geek, Ms. Spock.”

“Well, you know the reference, what does that make you?” Daphne stuck her tongue out at him. “Besides, who’s not communicating? So what, are you going to fix this by running away? Again, I might add? But, I guess that’d show him.”

Justin froze as his glare turned into something more like dismay. Then he slumped, and closed his eyes. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck a duck.”

“Really. A duck. Is that your latest thing?”

“Fine, fuck you, Daphne.”

“Nope, nobody twice except Brian, remember?” She stopped teasing. “You have to tell him. Seriously, Justin.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t want him to think I’m running away from him. I’m not. I mean… I just need some space to figure out how I feel. It’s like, I’ve just felt kind of, blah lately.”

“You seem more, I don’t know, confused. Maybe, angry?”

Justin’s eyes popped open. He didn’t deny it. But he just shrugged. “So what do I do? How do I tell him about this job without him thinking I’m leaving him?”

“You’re going to have to just tell him and encourage him to respond with more than his tongue down your throat. But hey! that’s probably a good place to start. He’s more likely to feel, um, charitable toward your side of things if you, you know, soften him up first, get him in the mood he likes to be in.

Justin smirked. “Believe me, Brian doesn’t soften up in those moods.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean, I don’t mean physically, I mean when he’s more receptive to suggestion, to your side of things. Like, emotionally, sort of, you know, rub up on him, tell him when he’s feeling, um…”

“Hot? Use my seductive powers?”

“Yeah, when he’s less likely to rip your head off… DON’T,” she warned, seeing the teasing glanced slanted her way at that last bit.

“Fine, but you,” Justin said, “are one sneaky ass bitch.”

Daphne beamed brightly. “Yeah! That’s why you talk to me, we do good battle strategy.”

“Call you General Chanders.”

“Heh heh… I like ‘sneaky ass bitch’ better. Is it time for vodka?”

Justin ignored that last question. “Unfortunately, I think you’re right. I’d better go tell Brian what’s up.” Justin stood, grabbed his coat and bag. “If Michael talks to Brett before I talk to Brian, this’ll be very bad for me.”

“Fucking Michael.”

“Ugh, don’t give me any mental pictures.”

“He’s an asshole,” Daphne clarified.

“Not helping…” Justin teased, shrugging into his coat.

She growled in frustration. “Fine! You and Brian may be morons, but Michael is dumb as dirt! He has no clue! He thinks he’s protecting Brian but he’s only protecting something of his own that doesn’t even exist, if it ever did, a fantasy relationship he made up for himself that doesn’t help anyone, not even Michael, which he would realize if he weren’t as thick as a post! And he needs to hold his utensils like an adult, not a four-year old!” 

Justin tried not to laugh at the pleasure of having a friend who was totally on his side, even as he mentally winced at the accusation that Michael was casting Brian in a fantasy role of his own making. That hit a little too close to home. “Daphne!” 

She scowled. “Fine, go talk to Brian before Michael gets to him. But Justin…”

Justin turned, his hand on the door. 

“Brian loves you, maybe not as much as I do. Just don’t forget that he really does love you.”

Justin’s smile faded as he walked out. 

Alone in the apartment, Daphne went to put the vodka in the freezer so it would be cold when Justin returned, in tears more likely than not. She sighed. They really were a couple of idiots.

 

_III: Want_

Justin really did mean to go home and talk to Brian. But instead, he found himself entering the diner and sliding into an empty booth. He had been on his way to the loft when he realized he was enjoying the sun on his face a little too much, just feeling the way the early spring breeze lifted his hair to caress his cheek. And he wasn’t thinking much of anything, just feeling a winding tension in the pit of his stomach. Must be hunger, he told himself. Or dread. Shit. He couldn’t figure it out. He just ate a ton of crap at Daphne’s. And he wasn’t exactly dreading the conversation with Brian. It was just his future life. He had two good choices in front of him. Really. All good. Wasn’t that it? What exactly, how exactly should he approach this? What was his objective? He had to be prepared… but with this buzz on, he really couldn’t think clearly. Damn, a cup of coffee would help. And then he found himself in front of the diner. He wasn’t procrastinating. Really. 

“What can I get you, honey?” Kiki was there, her pen poised over the pad. 

“Just coffee, Kiki.” Across the diner, Deb waved at him. The place was mostly empty. He glanced at the clock. The crowds would descend soon enough for the dinner rush. Brian would be home, working. Waiting. Pretending he wasn’t.

Damn it. 

“Here you go, sweetie.” Kiki had returned to slide the cup of coffee in front of him. 

“Thanks,” he breathed, picking up the cup and drinking it black, gulping at it, almost scalding his tongue. But the caffeine began its work by the time he had finished, and he felt that he could almost think. One more cup while he did not procrastinate. His gaze traveled around the diner floor, looking for Kiki, or Debbie, or someone, anyone walking around with the pot of coffee. Wasn’t someone always walking around with a pot of coffee? Shit, he had to get rid of this floating, disconnected feeling. Finding Kiki chatting up a customer at the counter, he caught her eye and held up his cup. She nodded at him. He turned his sightline back into the booth.

And his gaze collided with a pair of brown, almost black eyes. Oh, fuck, he really didn’t need this, Michael, sliding into the booth across from him. Michael had a dark scowl on his face as he shook his head. Justin tensed. 

“So,” Michael drawled. “I just talked to Brett…”

Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck! 

Justin felt it then, part of Brian’s legacy to him, what he personally called the “Kinney calm” settle over him. Before, when he had watched that carefully blank look settle onto Brian’s face, he assumed it was because Brian knew exactly what he was doing and did not have time or patience for whatever idiot was standing in front of him and wasting his time. The look conveyed sheer contempt for the other’s preposterous presumption, who dared to question Brian Fucking Kinney. Justin hated when Brian turned that look turned on him; it made him feel insignificant, as if he had no right to his own point of view whatsoever. It made him feel like an insect, scurrying about beneath the devastating gaze, Brian’s proverbial boot raised above him, ready to descend, crushing. 

Then, one night not too long ago, they had been at the bar in Woody’s, when he had been approached by a former classmate from PIFA who had spent the last term in Italy. 

“Hey, Justin! How’s it hanging? You and Ethan still together?”

Justin had froze, feeling a sudden tightness in his gut, a wave of confusion and uncertainty crashing over him. He liked the guy who had been standing in front of him, this kid just waiting for a reply, his smile of greeting fading as he watched Justin’s face and began to realize he’d said the wrong thing. At that moment, Justin had no idea how to answer him; his body just stopped as the factors needed to calculate the consequences of possible responses ran through his head. The potential outcomes were just too varied to allow for a split second decision. Any casual reply had been out of the question. He and Brian had been sitting on the bar stools, their lower legs casually entwined. It hadn’t helped that Brian’s calf had jumped and then gone still, pressing Justin’s shin bone, hard, into the leg of his stool. He had no idea how to respond. Ethan was a taboo subject. He and Brian never talked about it. Never never never. And here was this kid standing in front of him, waiting for Justin’s reply. He had felt the blush wanting to come and had forced it back. Letting Brian see how agitated he had been would be a huge mistake; he sure as shit couldn’t let this kid see his upset. And suddenly, like a flash, an understanding that he didn’t have to react came to him, and he could just not react at all. This was a moment of sheer will, in which Justin Fucking Taylor could redefine the moment of uncertainty. Carpe Diem. Or, whatever “moment” was in Latin. So Justin had willed his first response all down into a tiny little place in the pit of his stomach. Instead, he had leaned into Brian’s side, as he felt an icy calm fall down over him. “No,” he’d answered the kid, nothing more. And then he had waited. Fuck off, Justin thought, I can’t handle this. He had felt a wild screaming laugh echoing deep in his gut but way down inside. Not a ripple on the surface. Just a stare.

“Oh,” the kid had answered, as Brian’s arm snaked around Justin’s waist and pulled him in closer. “Oh!” He had stared at Brian for a second. “Well, then, uh… see you ‘round.” And with that, the kid had fled.

Justin had then turned to face front. Brian’s hand had immediately dropped into his lap, fingers curling over his junk. Comfort? Ownership? Fuck if Justin knew. As he’d raised his beer, Justin had caught a glimpse of his own pale face in the mirror behind the bar. His and Brian’s, both with identical casts of That Look, the classic Kinney calm. Brian's eye caught Justin’s in the reflection. And then Justin knew. That look that had always infuriated him so, that he thought was a way of annihilating the person on the receiving end, annihilating him, that wasn’t it at all. Well, that wasn’t _all_ of it. Instead of a sign of utter control, it was a cover for the complete opposite; the Look covered a vulnerable uncertainty as to exactly how to proceed, a knowledge that his own immediate emotional reaction was probably out of proportion to what he was faced with. The Look had much more to do with throwing up a big wall around his own fucked up shit than it had to do with the person on the receiving end. 

You’d think Justin would have figured all this out before that moment. But wasn’t that typical Sunshine, he had to figure out everything by experience. No wonder his life was so fucked up.

That particular blank stare sure as hell proved useful, though. Right now, for instance, staring down Michael as Debbie took over their table since Michael had shown up and Lord knows Deb had ownership of her son’s space at all times. Poor Michael.

“More coffee, Deb? Please,” Justin asked, wondering if he was going to get to drink it.

“Usual, Ma,” Michael said, absently wiping away the lipstick she left behind on his cheek. He stared at Justin, to be faced only with that Look, the blank stare that made Justin appear to be channeling his lover. That look that never failed to infuriate Michael. The look making clear that Michael had no clue. Bad enough when it came from Brian. Showing up on Justin’s face, though…

Not that it made any difference. This time, Michael had a more concrete reason to be infuriated, besides the fact that his best friend and Justin seemed to be turning into another entity altogether, not Brian and Justin, but a singular Them. Michael didn't have enough perspective to say that his antipathy was irrational, but he did understand that it was like an insect biting under his skin in an area he couldn’t reach. He only knew They could irritate the fuck out of him, and there was nothing he could do about it. He had gotten used to the constant sting. But that did not mean it had gone away.

However, he could actually address this latest situation.

“Does he know yet?” Michael asked. 

Justin did not need to ask who “he” was. “Michael…” 

“I guess that means no. Were you planning to tell him before you left? or were you going to let him figure it out on his own? Again?”

“Tell who what?” Ben asked, sliding into the seat next to Michael. 

“Justin has accepted Brett’s offer to be assistant art director on the movie.”

“Wow! Great opportunity, Justin, Congratulations!”

“No shit?” Deb asked, filling up Justin’s coffee cup, and patting him on the cheek with her free hand.

“No, no!” Justin exclaimed, pulling away. Damn it, the Look only worked on one person at a time. And apparently he, Justin possibly-not-so-Fucking Taylor, was fooling himself if he thought he could appropriate the Great God Kinney’s arsenal of tricks. 

And now three people knew about the L.A. job before Brian did? Debbie, for god’s sake? Shit! “It’s actually… well, I did tell Brett I wanted to do it, but… it’s complicated.” He was not going to tell them Brian’s offer to move into the loft made things a lot more confusing. But at least his head had started to clear. He took another long gulp of coffee. Why, oh why hadn’t he told Brett not to tell Michael? Oh, yeah, he didn’t want Brett to think he was having second thoughts, that he wasn’t thrilled about the job. And, damn it, why shouldn’t he be thrilled?

Brian, that’s why. Always Brian. Whether that was good or bad made no difference. It was simple fact. 

“So you didn’t accept the offer?” Ben asked.

They all stared at him. Justin sipped on his coffee. “I haven’t talked to Brian yet.”

“Ah,” Debbie said, her voice filled with an understanding she thought she had.

“You might want to do that,” Michael stated, staring at him.

Ben turned his level gaze from Justin to Michael.

Justin responded, “I didn’t think Brett would say anything to you. I was planning to talk to Brian before making any announcement to anyone…” Justin didn’t want to explain this much, but he needed them to understand why it was important they leave him alone to handle this, and not interfere. 

“So you’ve already decided. Gonna run off then?”

Ben interrupted the beginning of a patented Michael rant. “What’s the story, Justin?”

He liked Ben, he really did, but he wasn’t prepared to go into it at the moment. “It’s a movie, so the job offer is for only a limited period of time. I’m not running anywhere.” And then he sent a glare, a real glare, Michael’s way.

“If you don’t just stay, bright lights, big city,” Michael grumbled, attempting a joke to hide the real thrust of his words. 

“How long?” Debbie asked. 

“Just a few months,” Justin answered.

“More like eight,” Michael ground out, tossing in a glare of his own for good measure.

Damn it, damn it! What exactly had Brett told Mikey anyway? “Look, I was actually on my way to talk to Brian about this, so I would appreciate it if you all would just let me work this out, okay?”

Debbie and Ben nodded. Michael’s eyes narrowed. “You got 24 hours to tell him, JT,” Michael said. “If you don’t, I will.”

“Whatever, Michael.” Justin tossed the last over his shoulder as he slid out of the booth seat and made his way out with his coffee left behind, undrunk. 

Michael turned back to the table, and found his mother and husband staring at him. “What?” 

Debbie just sighed and turned away to refill the coffee pot. Ben tried harder. “Maybe you should follow Justin’s advice, and just leave it alone.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, that’ll work. I’ve seen the way they’ve worked it out. The last time Justin was left alone to work it out on his own, Brian almost drank himself to death.”

So, okay, Michael had a point. Still, Ben thought, that didn’t mean it was Michael’s job to fix Kinney’s issues. “Yeah, I know, I was there, remember? Brian can take care of himself. I don’t want you to disappear into Kinney Land again.”

“I just…”

“Want to protect Brian from the forces of evil? I think he’s got it handled.”

“Yeah, well, Brian acts all tough, but…”

“He is tough.”

“Jesus, Ben, is this how it’s going to be?” 

“How what’s going to be?”

Debbie came back with a hamburger platter, which she placed in front of Michael, and a bowl of Wheaties for Ben, even though they hadn’t placed an order. Ben turned his automatic grimace into a smile, and thanked her. It was pretty clear where Michael’s impulse toward co-dependency came from. But he had to humor the mom-in-law. She had officially adopted him so he was being fed, _her_ idea of his diet, not his, but what a difference in her attitude from the first few months he was dating her son. So baby steps and careful management would have to do if he wanted to stay with Michael. And he did. “Can I get a side salad, too, Deb?” He had been looking forward to a salad, not cereal. Deb nodded, but she waited for Michael to unload. Old habits were hard to break, not that Ben wasn’t working on it. 

Michael did not disappoint his mother’s need to be involved in her son’s affairs. “This whole marriage thing, you going to interrupt me and start telling me what to do all the time?”

Ben stared back, considering how to respond. This was not the time or place for this discussion, though he knew Debbie would back him up. He had more tact than to remind Michael that a marriage was between two men, not three, not in front of his mother. And Michael, while he had gone through with marrying him, had immediately started to question the validity of the entire ceremony. Ben knew that second guessing himself, wondering if they should have had a long engagement first, did no good now. He glanced over at Debbie, and threw her a smile. “Of course not,” Ben soothed, shelving the conversation for later. Debbie just shook her head, and refilled Michael’s coffee cup. 

 

***

Justin pulled open the loft door, and headed toward the kitchen, placing the Starbucks bag on the counter and opening it to take out the two cups of latte, fully loaded for him, skim milk decaf for Brian. Soften him up, Daphne had said. That hadn’t been the reason he’d picked up two cups instead of just one for himself. But bringing Brian his favorite drink (well, after any number of alcoholic beverages, guava juice, and water), such consideration sure couldn’t hurt. He glanced over at the computer desk. Brian was watching him. Justin headed over with the coffee in his hand. “Hey,” Brian said as he approached. 

“Working?” Dumb question. It may be Saturday afternoon, but Brian worked all the time. At least he got to wear his comfortable clothes, the black tank and jeans, when he worked Saturday afternoons at home. As Justin walked toward him, he shoved back from the desk and lifted his arms to stretch his back. Wow, Justin thought, his gaze traveling the line of Brian’s jaw as his head leaned back to flex and crack his cervical spine. The tension in Justin’s stomach turned to something much more familiar. He waited for Brian to drop his arms, and leaned down to kiss him, capturing Brian’s lips in his, allowing the kiss to convey that strong feeling behind it. He pulled back, and they smiled at each other. 

“I got you a latte,” Justin said, handing him the coffee. Brian nodded his thanks, brought the drink to his lips. Justin added, “Decaf, skim milk.”

Brian took a long swallow, sighing in appreciation. “Of course it is.” Justin knew him, and Brian knew anything Justin handed him would be just right. “I took down the light over the bed,” Brian added, his voice casual. Brian took another sip of the coffee. He looked back at the computer. Then he glanced up at Justin’s face, and back at the computer again. 

Brian’s tone held… what? Justin decided to investigate this before starting the talk they needed to have. He wasn’t procrastinating, not really. But clearly, Brian wanted his opinion, even if he would never ask for it. That last glance, no smirk, no seductive softening of the mouth, that last look had been… uncertain. That was the word Justin had been looking for to describe Brian’s odd glances about. Justin didn’t get to see that look very often. 

Justin mounted the steps to the bedroom, and stopped on the threshold. His art, one of his final projects before he had been kicked out of school, now hung over the bed in place of the neon lighting. This particular artwork had been computer-generated, the apotheosis of his attempt to represent harmonious balance on a discordant visual field. The assignment had asked for a landscape, and Justin had drawn inspiration from Fritz Lang’s “Metropolis,” so a dark, mechanical urban landscape formed the background of this piece. Blues, greys, blacks – and then a thin beam of white light with a bare suggestion of brilliant yellow exploding upward into that dark sky as in the distance, from far off in the heart of the city and of the painting, a bare bit of brightness that brought the entire landscape into harmony around that central beacon, small and receded into the distance as it was. Justin loved this project, not only because he had gotten an A for it – the formal element of the dark buildings unsettled the composition even as that single shot of light restored the visual field into balance. The professor had said it was disturbing and soothing at once. Justin was proud of the fact that the other students had felt compelled to try and tell the “story” of the light that strained toward the sky. The story, to Justin, was completely beside the point. The fact that people felt a personal connection to it was far more relevant. 

And this piece looked perfect in its place over their bed. Justin looked at it again, reabsorbing its impact, unable to believe that it had come out of him. He always felt that way about his art. It seemed bigger than he was, and that strangeness continually struck him, the oddness that he had produced something so amazing. He was about to turn back to the main part of the loft to let Brian know his approval, when his gaze skimmed the wall over the dresser. And the sketch hanging on the wall there. He froze, stunned. He hadn’t seen that sketch in over two years. Brian, asleep, naked in bed. His first show, his first sale. Brian had had it, all along. Holy shit. Maybe that’s what Brian’s uncertainty had been focused on. 

He felt Brian’s arm move around his chest, and he leaned back into the warm body behind him. Soft lips press on his neck. “You like?” Hands, moving onto his stomach, tugging up his shirt. 

Justin turned around. Brian rested his forearms on his shoulders. His eyes were closed. 

Justin sat on the bed, so abruptly he practically fell out of Brian’s embrace. Brian’s eyes popped open, surprised, then he followed Justin’s gaze, which still fixed on the sketch. He sat down on the bed, next to Justin’s hip. He rested his chin on Justin’s shoulder, and waited. 

Justin tried to pull his thoughts together. He could have said any number of things. He finally settled on, “Why… why did you buy it? I mean, back then?”

Brian shrugged. He kept his lips busy, licked at the pulse at the base of Justin’s neck. Justin shuddered; that never failed to send signals screaming straight to his dick. “Brian…”

“I wanted it.”

Justin almost smiled. Duh, he thought. Such a predictable response. He could pursue that later. For now… “Brian.”

“Hm?”

“We need to talk.” Brian’s hand moving up his thigh, making him want to put off this conversation. No, no, no, he’d procrastinated enough. He slipped his palm against Brian’s, entwined their fingers, and lifted the hand off his leg. 

Brian lifted his head. “You don’t like the color scheme? Let me guess – you prefer orange?” 

Justin’s reply came with a small huff of amused breath. “No, it’s not that. This, this…” he gestured at the walls, “It’s great. Surprising…” Brian turned his head to look at the painting over the bed; Justin knew he really was avoiding looking at him. So he grasped Brian’s chin, turned his face back toward his. “I love it, I love you.” He kissed him, took a deep breath. “But, I have to talk to you about something else.”

 

IV: _Rage._

 

Justin was so damn exhausted. 

It was probably for the best; he didn’t have the energy to think about anything. Shooting was scheduled to begin in a week, and the set, which sprawled across the back lot, was not even close to completion. Tom, the Art Director, was running everyone ragged. Eighteen hour days were commonplace. Overnighters were not unheard of. Did any of these people _sleep_? 

Justin pushed open the door of the tiny bungalow the studio had provided for him, not bothering to take off his clothes before falling onto his back on the bed. He glanced over at the tiny kitchenette crammed into the back corner of his room. Nah, forget food. Who had time or energy to eat?

Tom hated him. Well, he didn’t hate him so much as he resented the fact that the director seemed to defer more to Justin than to him, the few times Brett had shown up to check on progress. 

“It’ll be done! It’ll be done!” Tom assured Brett, even though nothing was near done but for the alleyway in which the first scene, the assault and rescue, was to be shot. Brett had a frown stamped on his forehead as he toured through the back lot, noting the slow progress. There was a week left to pull it all together. The alleyway was perfect; but the second set, the loft - uh, Rage’s lair – wasn’t anywhere near completed. And shooting there was to begin shortly after the bashing scene. 

“Yeah, it better be,” Brett clipped. Then he turned to Justin, and asked, “What do you think of Rage’s lair? Is it on target?” Justin had been waiting for Tom to finish sucking up to the director so he could hand over the materials list Tom had requested Justin research. He expected he would next be ordering supplies per Tom’s request, and had a very good idea of which materials were best. But he had found out the hard way not to do anything without Tom’s go-ahead. His job seemed to be doing whatever the Art Director told him to. And the goddamn micro-managing art director hated him. When Brett came down to the set, Justin tried to keep his head down, but Brett would invariably call him over. 

Justin wasn’t quite sure how to handle his unique position on the set. He and Robin, the other Assistant Art Director, mostly ran errands for Tom, researched material, and pitched in to help build the actual sets when they could. To say nothing of getting Tom’s coffee, which he drank non-stop. No wonder it seemed like the guy would vibrate out of existence, or explode with nervous energy. All that caffeine. But, since Justin had actually designed the comic book, and Brett had made clear the film was to stick as close as possible to the original vision, whenever Brett showed up on the set, he would have Justin show him around, and Tom would lag in their steps, explaining the mechanics of the set’s construction, the cost estimates, and the projections for completion. But Brett would always turn to Justin, seeking his assessment of whether Tom’s work lived up to “their” vision.

Tom had issues with this. 

Today was typical. Brett had left after complimenting Justin on his work and barking at Tom over the delay in the construction schedule. Tom had then snatched the materials list out of Justin’s hand, scowled, and said, “Fine, he wants the sets up faster but can’t hire me any more fucking workers? Robin!” Robin appeared, shooting a quick, worried look at Justin, who shrugged at her. “Where’s my fucking coffee? Go get me my usual, and not that cafeteria shit, go to Starbucks!” Justin had brought him cafeteria coffee earlier that day, and had been rewarded with a long, raving rant. Today, Tom wanted a triple shot, 2-pump hazelnut, caramel sauce, cinnamon sprinkle, extra-hot, soy, no-whip moch latte. Vente, of course. His drink order changed daily. Justin was pretty sure Tom didn’t actually like all these drinks, but he definitely loved fucking with the assistants. 

“Uh, Tom, the cafeteria serves Starbucks coffee,” Robin informed him. 

Which had been Justin’s point. 

Tom glared at her. “Then the cafeteria’s switching the grounds and pocketing the difference, wouldn’t be the first time. Go to the fucking Starbucks down the street, and then get your ass back here.” Robin left, and Tom turned to Justin. “You’re going to help put up the set. Robin, too, get your ass over to the lair set.” He glanced down at the list. “Fuck, you forgot Rothman’s!”

“You didn’t tell me…” Justin began.

“Do I have to tell you everything!” Tom yelled. “Fine, I’ll call them myself, just go to work.”

The rest of the day was spent lifting walls into place, carrying pieces of furniture, painting walls, and setting up a platform. 

Robin wasn’t at all sympathetic to Justin’s complaints. The one time they managed to sit down in a café and eat lunch together, she had simply laughed them away. 

“Tom’s supposed to be the guy in charge,” she explained. “You got the director looking for your approval, of course Tom’s going to make your life shit when Brett ain’t around.”

Justin had picked at his salad. What there was of it. People didn’t seem to eat a lot here, at least, they didn’t at the café Robin had brought him to. “Yeah, but, I just… I don’t know. I guess I’m an idiot, I kind of expected, since I created Rage in the first place, that the art director would be more interested in what I had to say.”

“Yeah, but you’re an _assistant_ , HIS assistant. Your place is not directing the director; it’s doing whateverthefuck Tom tells you. It doesn’t matter that you created the ‘vision.’” Her emphasis on “vision” was mocking, Justin noted with dismay. “These are his sets,” Robin continued, “not yours. In fact…” She leaned forward, shoving her plate aside. “…do you have any idea how many people out there want your job? I mean, people who have advanced degrees. People who have a hell of a lot more experience than you do. This just dropped in your lap! Maybe for good reason, I’m not gonna judge that, but you would never have gotten this job with your resume as is. You can learn a lot here. I know Tom’s hard to handle for even the most favored. But you can learn a lot, just focus on the positive.”

Justin figured she meant well. Barring the fact that he and Mikey had basically written the storyline, the entire creative effort of a movie was nothing like producing a comic book. And Justin had seen how writers were treated out here. “You’re right. I guess I just expected something different.”

Robin smirked in response. “What, the glamorous movie industry? It’s a business, just like anything else. I hate to tell you, this is as glamorous as it gets.” 

Justin’s forearm and hand started aching after only four hours into the grueling work of raising the lair set. By the end of the day, he was painting the walls with left-handed brush work. And that was only the first coat; tomorrow would be a full day of the same. He would kill for a bath, but this tiny room the movie had supplied for him only had a shower. A tiny, cramped shower. He supposed he was fortunate to be put up at all, so that he had not had to scramble for housing. Not that he would have time to look for somewhere nicer to live, even if he wanted to. He lay on his back on the hard mattress, massaging his right arm with his left hand. Didn’t help. Sharp pains passed periodically through his numb fingers, and the muscles in his forearm cramped horribly. He could feel the twinges of beginning spasms. He would not say anything about this, though – what was he supposed to do, beg off heavy labor? No way. If he said anything, he’d look like he was trying to get out of work, that he couldn’t take the bullshit Tom dished out. So he would say nothing. But fuck, this hurt.

He missed Brian. He was tired, in pain, and he missed Brian with an ache that had lodged firmly in his gut. 

Not that he would tell Brian this. Justin wasn’t sure if they were fighting or not, and he certainly wasn’t going to do anything to exacerbate as situation that might or might not be happening. What was certain, was that both he and Brian were insanely busy; something had come up with Brian’s Brown Athletics account, and god knew Justin barely had a free moment himself. When he did, he slept. If they were fighting, it was a cold war. It had started when Justin had informed Brian of the opportunity out in Hollywood. He had known that was going to cause trouble. But he had no idea how to get around it. So he’d just plowed through and hoped for the best. When in doubt, default. 

Seeing that sketch on the wall of the loft’s bedroom, that picture of Brian that was his first art sale, and learning that Brian had been the purchaser all along, seeing it hanging in the bedroom, *their* bedroom… that had thrown him. Justin had seized on the lack of responsiveness when he had asked Brian why he had bought it. Maybe he should have been more sensitive. But he was tired of always worrying about Brian’s feelings. When was it going to be about his? 

Still, he couldn’t forget that look of resignation that came over Brian’s face when Justin had finally broached the issue of their future. “Um, when I was out in California, uh, Brett asked me if I wanted to work for him, on the movie?” Justin had paused while Brian watched him and said nothing, just waited. Justin knew this tactic; he’d watched Brian use it a thousand times, but he’d been too nervous to counter with anything of his own but the truth, which just spilled out. “Anyway,” Justin continued, “he offered me that job of Assistant Art Director…” he trailed off, and looked over at the sketch. His stomach knotted more tightly, if that was possible. 

Brian’s forefinger caught Justin’s jaw to pull his face back to look at Brian, imitating the very motion Justin had just used on him mere moments before. “It’s a good opportunity.”

“He asked me before you asked me to move in.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” 

Brian dropped his hand onto the bed, watched Justin. “You’re thinking of moving to California, then?” The mask was in place, oh so calm. Watching, Waiting. His eyes were almost glazed, and not in a good way.

“No! Not moving, just… relocating. And just for a couple of months. For the duration of the movie shoot.”

“I see.”

Justin could imagine what Brian saw. “It’s only going to be for a couple of months. And it’s a great opportunity…”

“And lots of fresh starlet meat,” Brian tried to joke, leaning back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “When do you leave?” 

Jesus, he already has me out the door, Justin thought, but he forced that thought back. It’s just Brian, he reminded himself, but the phrase had been repeated in his head so often that it had long lost meaning. Sure, it was just Brian to pretend he didn’t care. To accept reality, in Brian’s words. Justin could tell himself a thousand times that this didn’t mean that Brian didn’t care, but it didn’t tell him what Brian did feel. 

“Next month sometime… the movie starts shooting in two months, but there’s stuff that needs to be done before that.” 

“Ah. So you’ve already said yes.” 

Shit. “I should have talked to you first.”

“It’s your life,” Brian shot back, getting up from the bed and crossing the loft to his desk. He picked up the cup of coffee and took a long swallow. The mask was back down and firmly fastened in place.

Justin got off the bed and followed Brian into the living area. “But it’s our life…”

“Apparently not.” Brian clicked mouse to restart his program, and stared at the computer screen.

Fuck, this was bad. “Don’t. Brian. Brian!”

Cool eyes looked up at him. “What?” 

“Don’t shut me out.” 

Brian pushed back from the computer, leaned back in the chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. He considered the young man in front of him. “No big deal. We’re not married, you don’t owe me anything, we’re not joined at the hip. It’s a good opportunity for you.”

“Then why are you acting so pissed?”

“I’m not!” Hearing himself, Brian bit his lip. That came out more forcefully than he no doubt intended. He uncrossed his arms, and gestured to Justin to come over. When Justin approached, Brian reached up to take him by the hips, and sat him down on his lap. “Fine… maybe I’m a little… surprised. I’m not upset with you. It could be a good career move. Or maybe you just want to fuck Connor James again?”

Justin wrinkled his nose. “Hm, not twice. He might get attached and never leave me alone.”

“I know what that’s like,” Brian grumbled. Justin punched him lightly on the shoulder. 

“Maybe I just want my shot at Tom Cruise…” 

“Everyone knows he’s not gay,” Brian answered.

“He hasn’t met me yet.”

Brian snorted a laugh. He turned Justin to straddle him, then reached up to pull at Justin’s neck so their lips could meet. And then they weren’t talking anymore.

Now, lying on his awful bed in L.A. while cradling his aching arm, Justin wished he had pushed Brian harder. He always let him off so easily; he never tried to push him anymore. He had pushed like hell when they first met. What had happened since then? Justin had begun to wonder about that, he felt so fucking lost lately… and now there was no time to think at all . Even less time to contact Brian, to email, to phone. Anything. 

They’d spoken on the phone only a couple of times since he’d been out here, but not about anything important. Justin wasn’t about to admit that he missed living with Brian. His eyes closed, and before he drifted off to sleep, he allowed himself the luxury of remembering the fierce fuck session in the chair that had ended that half-assed conversation, and memories of Brian saying, once they’d caught their breaths, “You know, if you move in here before you go to California, you’ll have a home to look forward to coming back to…” and his own whispered, “yes…”

Justin’s arm throbbed. He took a very deep breath, willed the tears that threatened back, back to the depths. He couldn’t cry. He had to sleep. He already felt bad enough. 

 

***

“Brian? I have to talk to you.” 

Brian glanced up from his computer to see Ted hovering in the doorway of his office. He saw the look on his accountant’s… well, accountant/account assistant’s face. “That is becoming my least favorite sentence of all time,” he muttered to himself.

“I’m sorry… may I come in?” 

“Yeah, Ted, just a second.” Brian closed out his email, shutting down the message he was trying to write to Justin. The “save draft?” message blinked for his attention. He hesitated, and finally clicked “No.” Everything he wrote out sounded stupid. And fuck if he even knew what he wanted to say. He had written emails that just recounted how his day was going, and those sounded dumb too. Fuck, he wanted Justin home. Fuck all this communication shit. Full body contact was so much better. How long was that damn movie going to take? “Okay, Ted, what’s up?” 

Ted sat down in the chair across from his desk and twitched. 

“Ted…”

“Yeah, uh, I have to talk to you about Drew Boyd.”

“What about him?”

“Uh…”

“Ted. I do not have all day. Fucking spit it out.”

“Emmett had an affair with him.” 

Ted looked on, aghast, as Brian burst out laughing. “No, Brian, I’m not kidding! That guy… he apparently, uh, likes a little bit on the side. Boy bits.”

Brian rubbed his hands over his face. He did not need this today. Or any other day for that matter. 

“I had no idea, I swear, I didn’t know until Emmett told me. He ditched him, though, for being a closet case…”

“Well, thank god he’s a closet case! What, was Emmett trying to work his fairy godmother magic and turn the ripped linebacker brand representative into a lying bisexual cheat? The representative linebacker who has a wife?”

“Isn’t he a quarterback?”

“NOT THE POINT, TED!!!”

“Sorry…” Ted knew this was going to be bad, but he hadn’t expected Brian to be quite so pissed off. Well, okay, he did, he had just hoped Brian wouldn’t yell at him. “It’s over, though, I just thought you should know.”

“You’re damn right I should know, he’ll have to be replaced. Any ideas?”

Ted could not figure out the tone of voice, was that sarcasm? Would Brian entrust him with finding another cover boy for Brown? “Uh… 

“Yeah, uh. Guess that’s no. Fuck.” 

“Look,” Ted tried, “if it helps any, Emmett told me that Drew said he’d never risk his reputation by coming out of the closet. Too much money riding on it, apparently. Can’t alienate his homophobic fans.” 

“Thank god for small favors,” Brian muttered.

“But, well, since Brown’s so pleased with this guy, and actually brought up keeping him longer than the original contract, I figured you’d need to know, so we can avoid the risk of scandal that comes with him.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. “Not so dumb, Schmidt. In the meantime, we’re just going to have to ride out the next couple months, and hope Boyd is discreet. You do know what this could do to Kinnetic’s reputation?”

“Yeah, that’s why I’m telling you. And nobody else.”

“Well, tell Honeycutt to keep his mouth shut.” Fuck. Thank God Brown was in Chicago. Brian would have heard if word was out in Pittsburgh, so Boyd had been smart enough to remain under the radar – or gaydar, as it were. Still, he had bad enough judgment to get involved with Emmett, who was not exactly discreet, especially when pissed. Not that Brian minded that under ordinary circumstances. Hell, he admired Emmett’s fuck-’em-all attitude, but this was business. It had nothing to with his personal opinions, his preferences. It had to do with reality. The average heterosexual American guy would not buy sports gear from his queer brethren. And while the average heterosexual woman would be more likely to buy sports gear for her guy from a hot guy regardless of orientation, they were not the market. And anyway, women hated cheating dicks. Oh, hell, it was just a bad bet all around. Maybe he could have worked with Boyd’s homosexuality; Brown would never have gone for it, but it might have played in specialized markets. But a closeted lying cheat? No way, no how, no where. 

“We’re going to have to ride out the next couple months and just hope it all works out.” Ted echoed Brian’s words.

“I don’t just let things work out on their own,” Brian growled, unconsciously grabbing and squeezing the stress ball on his desk (Justin had brought it for him just before he’d left, saying, “Since you won’t have me to take your stress out on…”). 

“Unfortunately, I’m not sure we have a choice,” Ted returned. While Brian tried to figure out when Kinnetic had become a “we” endeavor, Ted continued, “Here’s what I thought. I figured I could come up with a selection of replacements and then pass them by you. After you narrow them down to two, we’ll hire an investigator to scope them out and then you can decide who you prefer, and we can approach one or the other. We can’t do much about Drew but hope he doesn’t fuck up while he’s on our billboards, but we can try to prevent it from happening again. And, maybe, you could propose to Brown that we have a rotating representative, to keep the appeal fresh. After Drew’s contract is over, we just seamlessly replace him with someone who’s not using his wife as a beard. Or, you know, at least someone whose wife is okay with it.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. Ted had obviously thought this out, and had come up with a proposal of his own that was well planned before he even approached Brian’s office. Not that Brian would ever tell Ted he was impressed by this. Instead, Brian just rolled his eyes and shook his head before looking down at the man sitting across from him (Brian’s guest seats were two inches shorter than his desk chair). “Yeah, fine, pull something together. You got a week to show me what you come up with. And Ted,” he added as Ted rose to leave. “You should know I’m aware of how big a mess this could still become. I’m expecting you to keep it under control.” 

“You want me to talk to him about this?” 

“Of course not, that’s my job.” At Ted’s look of resignation, Brian added, “It’ll play better, coming from me. That way, he’ll feel you’re on his side while I’m the angry dickhead.”

“Good cop/bad cop?” Ted mused, his eyes lighting up. 

“I always did like those handcuffs,” Brian shot back, and he grinned as Ted groaned. 

“Yeah, that’s definitely your thing,” Ted replied. He got up from his seat and picked up the files, getting ready to leave. 

“Theodore.”

Ted turned back.

“Find me some alternatives in California. L.A. area, if you can.”

Ted bit his lips to keep from smiling before he went back to work. First on his To Do list: Kill Emmett. 

 

***

“Oh, hey, Brian, come on in.” 

Brian stepped into the foyer of Drew’s house. He said, “I’m not staying. In fact, I would have saved time and just called, but this is not a conversation I want to risk on recordable media. There’s no one here, is there?”

Drew stopped, his wooden face becoming stiffer, if possible. He paled. “Just me.”

“I see you understand where I’m going with this,” Brian continued. “Neither Brown Athletics nor I would appreciate any of your extracurricular activities getting out while you’re fronting our campaign. So you will restrain yourself for the duration, and keep your dick out of anything that isn’t your wife. Otherwise, you won’t have a dick to stick into whatever you like when all this is done. Are we clear?”

Drew stared into the hard eyes of the man standing across from him. “Frankly, Kinney, I’m surprised you’re so… judgmental about this. I know your reputation.”

“Yes, that’s the point, isn’t it? I’m not in the closet, billing myself as the all American monogamous het sports star.” He turned to leave, and threw over his shoulder, “And, Boyd, I’m not kidding. If I find out you’re fucking around anytime in the next six months, you will be minus your junk.” 

“Six months? The campaign’s hardly two more!”

“Extra four months for safe distance. Then you can do whateverthefuck you want.” Brian slammed out, heading down the long staircase to his car. Damn it, what a day. All he wanted… but he couldn’t go bury himself in blonde boy forgetfulness, now could he? Fuck, he needed a drink. A lot of them. 

***

Michael found Brian later at Woody’s with a glass of whiskey in front of him. He slid onto the stool next to his best friend. 

“Oh, hey, Mikey,” Brian slurred. Michael raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t seen Brian this drunk in a while. 

What’s up, Brian? Bad day?”

“Nah, my days are just peachy.” Brian drained the shot glass, and gestured to the bartender. “How’re the Huxtables?”

“We’re fine… Hunter just got his report card. He’s doing really well. He says he wants to beat Justin’s score when he takes his SAT’s.”

Brian snorted. “That’ll be the day.”

“I don’t know, he’s pretty smart. Speaking of Boy Wonder, have you heard from him?” 

“Yeah, phone, he’s busy-busy.” He almost smiled, remembering the phone sex from the night before. Unfortunately, their actual conversations were much less satisfying. Work. That seemed to be about it for both of them. Brian needed some contact. Speaking of which… his eye was caught by a promising looking trick across the bar. If he could just stand up now. He tried, and stumbled, then sat back down hard. Well, shit. 

“Guess that’s out,” Michael said dryly, having followed Brian’s line of sight. “Justin should be happy to hear you’re too drunk to fuck.”

“You won’t tell him, would you?” 

Wow, Michael thought, he really is drunk. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“Good.” Brian put his hand around his glass, but didn’t lift it. Too drunk to drink, he thought, I’m not supposed to be abusing myself this way, anyway. 

“I’m going out there next week,” Michael offered, “to see the start of the shoot, first scene. Justin said the set’s coming along nicely.”

“If you talked to him and know all this shit, why’d you ask me?”

“I wanted to know how you’re doing.”

“Oh, I’m just peachy.” Brian managed to get the amber liquid up to his lips. There, he thought. Just peachy. Fuck you all.

“He seems to be doing well.”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Think he’ll want to stay in California?”

Brian did not want to talk about this. Shut up, Mikey, he thought. “He says he’s coming back.” 

“Yeah, but can you imagine? Hollywood, big success. Would you come back?”

Brian closed his eyes. He wished he could close his ears. 

Michael was too caught up in the fantasy playing out in his head. “I sure wouldn’t. If I didn’t have Ben and Hunter, I’d go work for Brett too. Make a shitload of money, have my name up in lights over movies. Hey, I’m _going_ to have my name up on the screen! Well, it’ll be on the credits that nobody sits through, but shit, who knows how far Justin could go, he could even become a star, he’s sure good looking enough, well, he’s not you, but he’s not…”

“Shut the fuck up!” Brian exploded. The conversation around them lulled as Michael’s mouth dropped open. Brian realized that was a bit harsh. And loud. He lowered his voice, but continued anyway. “Why the fuck are you bringing up shit that might never happen? He says he’s coming back.”

“Yeah, well, there’s what Justin says, and then there’s what he does.” 

Brian stared at Michael, hard. Then he laughed. “Okay. So why do you think I shouldn’t believe him?”

Michael answered, softly, “I just… I dunno, I guess I want to remember what he’s capable of. So you don’t get hurt. Again.”

The bartender set another drink in front of Brian. He hadn’t asked for it. He stared into the glass, and spoke again, hoping Michael was listening, but not really caring if he was. “You know, you of all people know why it’s so fucking hard to keep my shit together through this, but I’m doing it, for once in my goddamn life I’m actually trusting something besides my own instincts. You know how fucked up this is to me? I’m about to go fucking insane, and all you want me to do is doubt him. Doubt anything that’s not you.” Brian glanced over, to see Michael staring at him, for once not responding. Brian went on, “I know you’re there for me, Mikey, you know I love you for that, but with Justin it’s…” he stopped, searched for the words, shook his head impatiently, and started again. “You couldn’t handle all my shit, Michael. You couldn't handle half of what I've dumped on him, but he can, he can handle it, it’s fucking unbelievable. I love you, Michael, but you’d break, but with him… And you keep wanting me to keep him at a distance? He’s already at a distance and it sucks. But he said he’d be back, so what else am I supposed to do? No, seriously, tell me what else am I supposed to do?”

“Holy shit, Brian…” Michael paused, watched his friend put his hands on the bar, place his forehead on them. “I am so sorry, I had no idea… I’m sorry, you know I wouldn’t hurt you, I just worry…” 

Brian lifted his head, and looked over at Michael, who looked like he’d been punched. Thank god it hadn’t gone that far, this time. Michael meant well, but his intentions sometimes got lost in the delivery. “Yeah, I know you do. Stop worrying. Have a drink.” 

But Michael pressed on. “I had no idea…”

Brian relented. “Well, shit, I’m surprised you don’t. Your mother figured it out a long time ago, I figured she’d have gotten on some PA system somewhere and made an announcement.”

“Yeah, but you know I never listen to her.”

They both laughed. 

“Hey,” Michael said when they’d calmed down. “Let me drive you home?”

“Yeah, okay. You can have that drink at my place. Hey, just, don’t tell him or I’ll have to kill you. Right after I kill Emmett,” Brian muttered, as he stumbled off the stool.

Michael shook his head. That these two were together at all was nothing short of a miracle. But he guessed that’s what Brian had been trying to tell him. And Brian was wrong; Michael was holding up just fine under Brian’s abuse. At least he knew that Brian was aware of why Michael was concerned; that’s all he asked for. 

 

V: _Action!_

“Hey.” Ben looked up from his book.

“Hey,” Michael said idly, tossing his coat on the coach before bending over and kissing Ben. 

“Ugh, you smell like a cigarette.”

“I was at Woody’s. And then the loft.”

“Ah. Brian having a hard time with Justin away?”

“Yeah. Not that he’d admit it.” Michael fell into the other side of the coach, slouching down. Ben smiled. Michael and Hunter were picking up each other’s postures, imitating mannerisms. It was cute. “I stopped by for a drink after seeing Mel and Jenny. Poor Mel, she’s really…” He gestured helplessly.

“Caught up in the baby? Missing Lindsay? Depressed?”

“Yeah, but you’d never know it to talk to her. You know how Mel is, totally tough, she’s convinced that whatever happened is all Lindsey’s fault. Won’t even talk to me about it.”

“Some things are best left alone.” 

“Yeah, I guess. She’s a lot like Brian, though, she won’t let you know she’s feeling anything less than totally in control. Course, Brian wasn’t exactly ironman tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, he nearly bit my head off for even suggesting Justin might want to stay in Cali.”

“Cali?”

“Hey, I’m hip!” 

Ben burst out laughing. “Oh, Michael, you’re just so… cute, yes. Hip? No.”

“You’re pretty cute yourself.”

They started to kiss, only to be interrupted by the opening door. “Hey, hey! Impressionable heterosexual teenager coming through!” Hunter snorted a laugh, as the two men on the couch turned to look at him. “Well, that was definitely worth those looks! ’Sup?” 

“See now, Hunter could say Justin was staying in Cali,” Ben said.

“Really? The blond’s out of our dark hair?” 

“Ugh, please don’t call him the blond - twink, kid, maybe even his name, _Justin,_ anything, just, don’t call him ‘the blond.’” Michael grimaced. 

Hunter looked at Ben, who shrugged. 

Michael went on, “And no, he’s not staying in California, I was just telling Ben that Brian almost took my head off when I suggested Boy Wonder might want to stick with the glam life.”

“Glam…” Ben repeated, shaking his head, receiving an elbow in the ribs. 

“You didn’t tell Brian that? Bet he didn’t like that, he’s totally in love with the guy, even if I can’t see why.

“Heterosexual guys generally do miss the point of crushes on other men,” Ben reminded him dryly. 

“Except when they have them,” Michael added. He and Ben shared a look of total understanding. 

Hunter did not disagree, but he qualified his own potential place on the Kinsey scale. “Brian transcends limitations as trivial as sexual preference.”

Michael nodded, while Ben just shook his head. “Anyway…” Ben sighed. “Can we go back to the early part of your evening, Michael? Jenny’s fine, Melanie’s acting like she’s fine with Lindsay moved out.”

“The lesbians broke up! No way!”

“Way,” Michael answered him. “I just wish there was something I could do. You know, she’ll be alone with Jenny…”

“Well,” Hunter said, moving toward the kitchen, “Why don’t we move in with her? She has that huge house, and now it has two less people in it. You could help with the baby, and we could have like, a real place to live. I wouldn’t have to fall all over you guys. Y’ain’t my type. Besides, Ben can cook for her. Melanie cooks for shit.”

Ben and Michael looked at each other, astonished. Then they looked back at Hunter, who came back into the living area with a bag of pretzels. “What?” the young man asked. 

***

“Come home.” 

Justin shifted the phone. He had managed to find a couple minutes to phone Daphne. “I can’t, Daph, I have to see this through.”

“No you don’t. Come home. Don’t you miss me? I know you miss Brian.”

“Yeah, of course I do. I miss you, too.”

“And that Tom guy sounds like a real asshole.”

“He is.”

“So?”

Justin glanced over his shoulder. Tom was nowhere in sight. Two days ago, he’d been interrupted while trying to talk to Brian. Talk about a shriek-fest. God. 

“So what? I’m not here for him.”

“Don’t tell me you’re there for Brett.”

“In a way… it’s hard to explain. Rage is mine. Well, mine and Michael’s. It’s the only thing, really, that I feel I have that’s really mine. I need to be here, to make sure my… that the project’s integrity is kept intact.”

“Hm, the telling slip. You have things here that are yours, Justin. What about school?”

Justin laughed bitterly. “Those fuckers.”

“Yeah? So fuck ’em, get your diploma from the best art school around, and when you march up on the stage, tell ’em to shove it.”

“Oh, God, not you too.” That phrase’s popularity was growing. Robin had stopped telling him to fuck off, and now delighted in telling him to shove it. 

“Well, you have Brian.”

“I’ve never had Brian, Daphne.”

“Oh, bullshit, you’ve always had him.” 

“And he always lets me go without a fight. I wish just once…” 

“What?”

“Nothing. Oh, shit, Tom’s headed for me, I gotta run. Call you later?”

“Yeah,” Daphne began, but the phone was already dead in her hand. She took it away from her head, scowled at it. 

***

“Brian?” 

Brian hit the button on the intercom. “What?”

Kinnetic’s receptionist replied, “Uh, Daphne’s here to see you?”

Oh, hell, now what. “Send her in.” 

Daphne marched in, and said without preamble, “Go get him.”

“Charming as always, my dear.”

“I’m not kidding, Brian, go get him.”

“Daphne…”

“No, forget your tired bullshit of letting him go to find his own path through life, blah blah blah it’s boring Brian, go get him.” Daphne’s face was mutinous; she crossed her arms over her chest, her legs spread, braced as though for a mighty wind.

Brian eyed her; she looked like a Valkyrie, rebelling against Odin. “Wow, Daph, you seem serious. And you look incredibly hot.” 

Daphne glanced down at her stance, dropped her arms from her upper body. Her response told Brian that Justin’s situation was not terribly dire; if it were, she would not have engaged in his bullshit. “Here you go, then, feast your eyes on the boobs and cool down. Bring him home, put his ass back in school.” Daphne moved to perch on the edge of Brian’s desk. She crossed her arms over her chest again, her eyes narrowing, jaw set.

“Justin’s his own man. He makes his own choices.”

“Oh, please! He makes his own choices because you make certain choices easier for him by opening the door wider! You might as well escort him out, with a ‘buh bye, have a nice time figuring your life out, you know where I’ll be but in the meantime we’ll both be idiots and waste all our time apart’!”

“Did he say that?” 

“He didn’t have to.”

Brian smirked. She didn’t get it. Ah, well, women were weird. Thank god he was gay. 

“Don’t get that smirk, Brian, I’m serious. He’s not happy, but he says he’s sticking it out there because Rage is quote, the only thing that’s mine, unquote.” 

Brian’s tone when he next spoke had an edge. “So?”

“So! So he doesn’t think you’re his! And don’t tell me he’s right because I already know he isn’t and so do you. So why are you letting him think that? You can’t be happy with him out in LA, he should be here, in school, in our lives.”

“Daphne, I really don’t have time for this. I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

Daphne hopped off the desk as Brian swatted her butt off the files he needed. “Fine, you just don’t want to talk to me about this. But, can’t you unbend, just once, unbend those rigid standards of yours? He needs more than that, and I think impressing your tough guy act on him has really fucked him up.”

“You think I’ve corrupted him?” Brian smirked, trying his best to brush this off.

“No, I just think he’s not you. I think he’s confused about who he’s supposed to be. And I know I’m tired of listening to him try to pretend he’s fine when he’s obviously not. I’d fix it myself if I could, but the only thing I can do is come to the one person I think might be able to. Go get him.” 

Brian shrugged, but Daphne was already on her way out. Fuck, he did not need this today.

***

“Michael!” 

Justin hugged the other man, much to Michael’s surprise.

“What are you doing here?” 

Michael stepped back, looking around the set, watching the long shadows cast in the setting sun. “First day, well, night, of shooting. Wouldn’t miss this,” Michael said. “Want to show me around?”

Justin nodded, and began leading the other man through the set. “I’ll take you to see Rage’s lair, it’s totally cool.”

“Just like in the comic?”

“A little different. But still okay.”

“Ah, you pushed for our vision.”

“Hm… well, it isn’t exact, but it’ll do.” His input was sought out, but just as often rejected for a variety of reasons. Budget. Coordination of material. Connor asshole James insisting on red sheets, which set off his skin tones better than blue. Justin was really starting to hate that prima donna. “How you doing?”

“Well, you heard Lindsay and Mel broke up.”

“What! No way! What happened?” 

Michael shrugged. “Not really sure. They won’t talk about it. Well, not to me.”

“Can’t blame them there,” Justin grumbled.

Michael punched him, but not hard. “Hey! Well, okay. Maybe you got a point.” He hesitated. “Hey, I wanted to ask you…” 

Justin paused as he put his hand on the door to the sound stage. “What?”

“Are you staying here? I mean, in California. Like, are you planning to come back? ”

Justin opened the door. “Why do you ask that?” Great. He knew where that had to be coming from. Now Brian had him permanently relocated. 

“Well, I suggested you might, and Brian freaked out.”

They entered the darkened room; Justin flipped on the lights. He could not see Brian freaking out. Well, he had punched Michael that one time… “Really? So you told him you thought I’d move here, and…”

“Yeah, he basically told me to shut the fuck up. Oh, wow, this is amazing!” Michael headed straight for the bed on the raised podium. “Red?” he asked, looking back at Justin, who just shrugged. “Not bad,” Michael said. “But what about the dark blue?”

“Well, you know, you got a hundred people yelling at each other, the endless argument, and finally, I decided, JT looks good against red anyway,” Justin grinned. He wasn’t about to tell Michael how discouraging losing that fight had been. The first loss in many. He may have helped create the comic, but that was then. Now, he was assistant art director. Tom’s lackey. 

They walked across the lot, toward the back part of the set where tonight’s shooting was to take place. The back alley was flooded with lights. A crowd stood around, waiting near the cameras, floodlight, adjusting equipment while Brett spoke with three muscular men in the center of the alley on which all the equipment was trained. To the side, Justin saw Alan, who was playing JT. Alan noticed him, jogged over. “Hey, Justin.”

“Hey, Alan, this is Michael Novotny.”

“Oh, hey, nice to meet you! I love your work.”

Michael grinned, shook his hand. “You’re perfect for JT, what are you, twelve?”

Alan frowned, and Justin told him, “Yeah, don’t worry ’bout it, that’s a shot at me, private joke.” He shot Michael a warning look, but Michael just smirked in reply.

“Oh, yeah. Okay,” Alan said. He eyed Michael before turning back to Justin. “Hey, I just wanted to ask you… I read the comic, of course, you know Brett made us read it a thousand times, but I wanted to ask, should JT hear something? Should I be apprehensive for a moment before the attack? Or is it out of nowhere.”

“Out of nowhere,” Michael said, confident.

“Well, yeah,” Justin answered, knowing better than Michael how things worked around here. “In the comic, he doesn’t see it coming, just out of nowhere. But you should ask Brett how he wants you to play it.” 

“Well, yeah, of course. I’ll ask him after he finishes with the thugs. He doesn’t want me to talk to them. He wants it to be ‘real,’” Alan added, before strolling off to wait for the director.

That last comment seemed to have triggered Michael’s mother-hen reflex. “Justin, are you going to be okay watching this?”

Justin glanced over, the lingering feeling of annoyance making him brusque, even though he appreciated that Michael thought to ask him something no one else seemed to consider a problem. After all, it was Justin’s problem, not theirs. Uneasily, he offered the best response he could at the moment. “It’s just a movie, Michael. I have to be here, it’s my job.” 

Michael frowned. “Sure it’s your job, but it’s also recreating a pretty serious traumatic event in your life.”

“They’re in an alley, not a parking lot.” Justin turned to stare back at the set. Suddenly he couldn’t meet Michael’s eyes. He didn’t want to see the concern in them. 

“Still…”

Before he could continue, Brett yelled, “Justin!” from his place in the spotlights. Michael touched Justin’s arm, and said, “I’ll be here if you need me,” and Justin nodded before jogging off to speak to the director. Michael watched for a moment, a frown on his face. He pulled out his phone.

 

***

The young man walked through the alley. He was coming from his first show taking place at the Center for Gay and Lesbian Youth, which had gone spectacularly well. Yeah, his father wasn’t there, but his mother had been, and his best friend, and a number of art people who were encouraging him to apply to art school. JT almost whistled as he cut through the alley on his way to the coffee shop where he was to meet Willow and celebrate. 

Whoosh! He had no time to tense against the sound of something very heavy splitting the air before it crashed into him. He cried out as pain exploded in his shoulder, and he fell to the ground. 

“CUT!” Brett yelled. “Damn it, Alan, you gotta fall with your jaw up and your head tilted to the left. Give it a run through, back off thugs, let’s try to get this right, huh?”

Justin dropped his hand from his mouth. Thank god Brett had stopped that. He laughed slightly, trying to shake off the apprehension curling in his gut. That feeling, like a mailed fist squeezing his heart, freezing his brain… And then the lights went out and the shoot was beginning again.

This time, there was no voice calling for a stop from the dark. The young man appeared around the corner, smile breaking across his face, happy, a good night, no, a great night. On either side, further down the alley, in two darkened doorways, pain waiting. JT walks past them, and from the right, the man with a bat, that sound… the cry of pain, the yells, animalistic, almost sexual, from the men who towered over the boy, beating, leaning over to get the weight behind, no words, just those grunts and cries of pleasure, of pain, JT with blood pouring down his forehead from a kick… 

It didn’t matter that Justin knew it was all choreographed, that Alan had padding at his back where most of the blows might land; kicks there couldn’t be pulled so easily because the camera angle needed maximum impact… a sensation like ice creeped up into his head, he felt a sharp pain in his head, right *there*, but that was impossible. His arm cramped suddenly, his throat closed, choking, he was choking and it was hard to breath. Frozen, he watched the beating that he himself had designed, god, what had he been thinking? And he knew no one was looking at him, they were all watching the actors, and he felt all alone and hemmed in at once, as if the very air were pressing in against him. He took a deep, hitching breath, and his hand was shaking, it had been bad all week but every nerve ending was suddenly alive, spiking pain where bone met ligament, spasming through muscle. He picked his hand up with the other, closing his eyes on the scene being shot, and pressed his thumb into the palm to try and control the hurt…

And he would have lost his shit when he felt the body press into his back and take his hand from him, except that he knew Brian as soon as he felt him move to mold himself against Justin’s back. Justin finally exhaled, fitting himself into the oh so familiar place. The strong, warm hands massaged his cramping muscles, easing the pain, as Brian set his chin on Justin’s shoulder, and breathed into his ear, “You okay?”

Justin nodded, unable to speak. Everything was fine now, with Brian’s arms around him and his mouth against his neck, softly moving onto his jaw. He turned his head, and looked into those beautiful eyes as everything else fell away. “I’m okay,” he whispered in return, moving to take Brian’s lips with his own.

 

VI: _Brian saves the day_

 

“Justin. Justin. Justin!”

So easy to tune Tom out, and just lean up against that hard, warm body that could make him forget that they were standing on a movie set, to just allow his tongue and lips to stroke Brian’s, to accept the caress in return, to feel Brian’s hands play with the small hairs on the back of his neck, to move his own hands over Brian’s forearms, to feel the smooth skin under his palms, feeling the goosebumps rise on the skin as Justin ran his thumbs against the tender flesh at Brian’s wrists…

“Justin!” 

Damn, the voice yelling at him was just too close now. Brian broke off kissing first, to look over at the skinny, twitchy guy headed for them with a clipboard. “Tom?” he whispered in Justin’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

“Mmh…” Justin responded. 

“Fuck him.” Brian licked Justin’s lower lip, and leaned in for more, but Justin had noticed that the lights were up and people were starting to stare. He reluctantly pushed at Brian’s shoulder, even as they shared a last, lingering kiss of hello. A greeting that had gone on for twenty minutes. Maybe more.

Tom stared at Brian for just a moment, then turned to his assistant. “Where’s Robin? I need her to confab with the lighting guys, she seems to have a rapport with them, they keep using the wrong green, keep switching to the yellow…” He peered at Brian again.

Justin would not introduce them. “I can go talk to them if you like,” he offered. 

“Really? Robin…”

“I can do it, Tom,” Justin grated, turning to Brian. “Stay here, I’ll be back.” And he headed off. 

Tom turned away abruptly, and Brian watched the younger man move around the congregation of people where the shoot was taking place, to disappear into the building that formed the left side of the alley. 

“Hey,” Michael said, moving to Brian’s side. He had had enough tact to leave them alone for their reunion. Besides, he had been fascinated with the scene being shot, then reshot from another angle. He also enjoyed watching Connor James, even if he had been simply lounging in a chair, doing nothing. The actor to play Rage was seriously hot. 

“Oh, hey, Mikey. Thanks for calling.”

“Is he okay?” 

“Fine, I didn’t let him watch it.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Michael smirked. “I know you didn’t want to watch that scene. But I thought Justin needed you here.”

“And I didn’t watch it,” Brian answered, slinging his arm around Michael’s neck, punching him lightly in the arm and smiling as Michael shoved him away. 

“Hey, Michael!” Both men turned toward the lights. Brett waved them over. 

“Ready to thrill your fans, Rage?”

“Born ready,” Brian repeated the well-worn phrase. 

***

Thank god that was over, Brian thought. Movies were boring. Worse than photo shoots. Thirty minutes to prep the scene, two minutes to shoot, thirty minutes to set up for a retake, another angle, another two minutes of action, over and over. Boring. Apparently the lights for Rage’s mind-distortion field needed to be filmed four thousand times in a variety of colors. The lights were mounted from a cat walk over the alley, between the buildings. Tom and Brett huddled after each scene, discussing pros and cons of each shade. Every so often Justin had to run up a different shade, which Brett and Tom needed to personally examine before sending it up, and off Justin would run, up three flights so the lighting guys could put it in place. Thrilling job. Not that Brian didn’t understand that sort of quest for perfection. But hell, he’d have figured it out, well beforehand. Or at least limited the possibilities. These guys must have money to burn. 

He had wanted Justin to come back with him to the Four Seasons, but Justin said he had to be up early and his place was right around the corner. Since he was already yawning, and Brian wanted as much quality time as he could get, he sent Michael with the car to take advantage of the reservation after dropping them off at the compound where Justin lived. He followed Justin into the tiny room, not bothering to look around before plastering himself onto Justin’s back and bearing him onto the futon that was shoved up against the far wall under the single window. They tore at each other’s clothing, bodies moving together fast and furious, coming quickly and hard. Only after did Brian manage to get a look around. 

“Jesus, this is where you live?” 

Justin shrugged, leaning back against the pillow, suddenly exhausted. “Where did you live when you were 20?” 

“Yeah, all right, good point.” 

“I’m not here much. Besides, the studio picks up the tab – you know, you get what you pay for.” 

They were silent for a while, just touching each other. Justin figured he wouldn’t get any sleep tonight, the way Brian’s hand was teasing out those familiar sensations as it brushed against his stomach, moving up his side... 

“You’ve lost weight.” Brian propped himself on his elbow to look down at Justin’s body. He ran his gaze up to his face. “And you’re not getting enough sleep, are you.” It wasn’t a question. 

“I’m busy. You know what that’s like.” 

“Hm…” Of course, Justin was right, he was not one to tell anybody else to eat and sleep. He wanted to pursue this anyway, but had no idea how to do it. He didn’t do the concerned mother thing. Shit, he resented the concerned mother thing. So what the fuck was he supposed to say, while not sounding like a total hypocrite? He had watched Justin get ordered around by that asshole Tom; Brian had hated the guy on sight, and no, it had nothing to do with the fact that Justin had gone on ad nauseum, every time they talked on the phone, about how much this guy sucked. But that’s where you started in any business, right at the bottom. Not that Justin should be here at all… But shit, that was not his call, was it? 

Justin propped himself onto his elbow and faced Brian on the bed. His eyelids fell half-way down, and he reached out to touch the hand Brian was stroking his rib cage with, lacing their fingers together, and pulling Brian’s arm away from his frame. 

“You know, Daphne came into my office and ordered me to come and drag your ass home.”

Justin groaned, pulled his hand away and used it to pull the pillow over his head. “I hope you told her to go to hell and stop telling you what to do.”

“Hm... I told her you probably hadn’t finished fucking your way through the clubs. How are they?”

Justin’s voice was muffled. “Who has time to go clubbing? Some of the guys have asked me, I always end up passing out and sleeping instead. Nobody sleeps around here…” Then Justin’s head peered out from under the pillow. “Don’t tell me that’s why you’re here? To tell me that Daphne wants me to come back?”

Brian couldn’t read Justin’s face at all. He was getting too good at that blank look. “I actually have to go down to San Francisco tomorrow, feel out a new face for the Brown Athletic campaign.” 

“Decided not to go with that Drew guy again?”

“Nah. Mikey and I piggy-backed our way on a flight out.”

“Ugh, I just got an awful mental picture, don’t do that to me.”

“Now now, it’s all fun and games. Or, it’s NOT all fun and games. It’s not as much fun without you around.”

“Please tell me Daphne hasn’t gotten to you.” 

Brian stared at him. Did he want to show his cards at all? Had they gotten to that point? “Did I tell you I won that bet?”

“What?” 

“The bet. The trick. You know, I take you to Ibeza if you win, you go back to school if I win. Well, I won.”

Justin stuck the pillow behind his head. Man, it felt good just to rest it. Even if the pillow wasn’t goosedown, like the ones in the loft. “So how come you never told me?”

Brian put his hand back on Justin’s chest, played with his nipple. “Well… I didn’t bring it up before because, well, the guy was an oncologist.”

“An oncol… oh holy fuck. Don’t tell me that’s how you found out about the cancer?”

“Only I could come up with a way to get a testicular exam and blown at the same time,” Brian returned, twisting his lips.

Justin was not laughing. “You must be shitting me, you walked around with that, for what? All that time, and no one knew. Cuz otherwise you would have been crowing your victory to all of Pittsburgh.” 

Brian sighed. Damn it, he did not want to bring this up again. “That isn’t the point, the point is, I won the bet…”

“No, Brian, that is the point. You can come to see me and not tell me you want me back in Pittsburgh even though you obviously do, you can put the words in Daphne’s mouth, you can point out how shitty my room is and that we could be at the Four Seasons right now or even at the loft all on your dime, but your actions make very clear exactly what you think of a guy who would actually depend on anyone but himself.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“You know, when you showed up tonight, I was watching that horrible scene being played out. It was hard, but I was getting through it. Then, when I felt you against my back, it was such a relief to sink into you. It’s too easy to do that, to close my eyes and just lean into you, when things become too overwhelming.”

“What’s wrong with leaning a bit?”

“What the fuck do you mean, what’s wrong with leaning a bit? You know exactly what’s wrong with leaning a bit. You never lean. And besides, you can’t always be there for me to lean into. You wouldn’t even have been there earlier tonight if you hadn’t had business in California. You’re here right now for Kinnetic, not for me.” Brian winced, but Justin continued. “And anyway, how do I know you’re going to be there at all, that you won’t just throw me out of your life because you’re too tempted by my presence to forget you aren’t superhuman, that superman is actually tempted to lean a bit himself? It’s okay if I do it, but you… No way.”

Brian stared at him, saying nothing. 

On a roll, Justin steamed on: “You really want me to lean on you because when I’m weak, you feel stronger. I can’t do that anymore. I’ve had enough of making a complete ass out of myself when I first met you, chasing you around like some goddamn puppy. I’m pretty sure I caused myself enough humiliation to last this lifetime. I’m not a child to be coddled by sugardaddy Brian. Clinging like a needy weakling.”

“Justin.” Brian finally found his voice. He ignored the “sugardaddy” comment, not sure why Justin seemed determined to piss him off. Shit, this was not the way he wanted this conversation to go. “We’ve all been there.”

“Not you. It’s okay for everyone to be weak and dependent, but not you.”

“No, even me.” Brian tried to play the waiting game, but Justin raised his eyebrows, clearly wanting more than that. Brian relented. “College, sophomore year. I was the teacher’s assistant. Couldn’t get enough of the guy. He enjoyed the attention. Loved the attention. We fucked constantly, he told me I was special, beautiful, he couldn’t believe he was doing this, but he couldn’t help himself… all that cliché bullshit. I eventually found out the hard way I was one in a long list of that teacher’s pets. Nothing special about me. I’d dogged the man, licking his ass for almost a year. And then, all I heard was get away, I don’t want you, I’m done with you now. It took me longer than I care to admit to get the message. So I know what it’s like.”

“What happened?”

Brian shrugged. “Well, his wife found out via anonymous note. Then the dean found out, right after the chair of the guy’s department. Yeah, in the most obvious way – it was my job to lock his office door, oops. Probably a bad idea to send a note to the chairman requesting a meeting right at the time I had my, uh, session with him. Again, oops. The entire student body found out, of course, he was fired, and divorced. Rumors were he was teaching composition at a community college in Florida, last I heard. Fuck if I cared. I’d sent the message out - no one fucked with me. Ever. I went after him, I got him. And never again, I was never going to feel that way again, that humiliated. For the rest of the time I was there, people didn’t know whether to revile me or just be scared of me.” Brian chuckled sourly, remembering. He was not proud of what he had done, but the memory of that man, that feeling, still struck a nerve.

“And you weren’t afraid I was going to do something like that to you?”

“Everyone already knew I was an asshole who screwed every hot guy in sight and never got attached. What did I have to lose?”

“Oh, nothing… just your reputation as an asshole who screws every hot guy in sight and never gets attached?”

“Down, puppy.” Brian twisted his lips, amused at the look Justin shot him at his use of that word. “Your revenge has been much, much worse than mine was.”

Justin snorted, swatted at him. 

“Well, so after that, I fucked everything in sight, lots of guys fascinated with the bad boy.” He stopped the story, looked hard at Justin. “That’s not your way, Justin. I ruined the guy’s life, and sure, he deserved it. But you don’t have it in you to be that way.” 

“I never wanted to be you. I only wanted to be with you.”

“I forget that sometimes. Or maybe I just didn’t get that.” Justin expected Brian’s comment to end the conversation, but Brian surprised him by continuing. “When you first started coming around, maybe that’s why I put up with you. I didn’t want you to get hurt like I had. And, well, I saw myself in you. When I was younger. You knew what you wanted and went after it. And anyone who got in your way would get run over. I didn’t want you to hit the brick wall I did.” Brian shut up. Words couldn’t make clear the wrenching pain of learning who he actually had been, well, who he had not been, to that man he adored. The ego blow had been tremendous. But more than that; after his lonely, painful childhood, the feeling that he might be able to depend on a supportive relationship, and having that possibility cruelly yanked away… It had been devastating. Crushing the guy’s life had not satisfied the emotional satisfaction he had really been after. And then, learning at 21 that he could ruin someone else’s life, getting a taste of that kind of power, it was dangerous. He had been weak for so long, and then suddenly he had power. For better or worse, that had led him to where Justin had found him. 

But even now, the memory made him cringe. He had entered college with hope that his parents were the exception; he certainly had said to them as well as to others that they were full of shit. He knew loving households existed. And he had hoped that someone with whom he would feel that essential bond, that organic connection you only find in families and lovers, that he would find that in someone who would recognize his essential worth. 

Professor Garrity had crushed that hope, brutally. There had been no turning back after that. 

“No brick wall, just a bat,” Justin said quietly. “You couldn’t spare me that. And you can’t spare me from what I have to do here. This is for me.” 

“What, staying in a shitty room, getting bossed around by an asshole while your fabulous director consults you when it’s convenient?”

“Yeah,” Justin shot back. “I’m doing what I can to protect what’s mine, what’s really mine. Rage is mine. Well, and Michael’s, but it’s the only thing I have right now.”

Brian opened his mouth to say something, but Justin held up his hand. “I don’t know if I’ll have the guts to say this to you ever again, god knows I’ve been walking on eggshells enough – no, not because of the cancer, because of me, so just let me say this.” He took a deep breath, and looked away from Brian as he went on. “You had that asshole teacher crush your romantic dreams, I had Hobbes. With one swing of that bat, it was like an essential piece of me was just gone. You know, that whole Pink Posse thing, I could have killed Hobbes? I had that gun in his face, I could have pulled the trigger. But I walked away, thinking, then, that he wasn’t worth it. And it was like I was high for days after that.”

Yeah, Brian remembered that, Justin had seemed transformed, not angry anymore, but not exactly happy. More like feverish, or on speed. And then he had settled down, and seemed, well, subdued. And then there had been Brian’s medical issues, and Justin’s emotional affect had taken a back seat. And then there had been Brian’s determination not to let a little thing like cancer stand in the way of biking over 300 miles. And Justin’s seat in the back seemed to recede, further and further.

So Brian kept quiet, letting Justin have front seat tonight. Shit, it was about time he did. Obviously this was a long time coming. 

“But I think now that I walked away because I realized that Hobbes had nothing to do with it anymore. I could have killed him, and nothing would have changed. Well, I might have gotten locked up. That’s about it.” Justin lifted himself up, leaned against the wall at the head of the futon. “He didn’t matter. It wasn’t about him anymore. Before he bashed me, I had, well, belief. No one could stop me. Not you, not my parents, nobody. I knew, deep in my heart, from the minute I met you, that you were the one, and the more you let me around you, the more you fucked me, the more I was certain that you felt the same way, I knew it, everything in me shouted it. It wasn’t just that I wanted you, it was that our lives wouldn’t be right if we weren’t together. The Universe would weep, it was The Truth, not just my truth, but really, really the truest thing I had ever encountered, bigger than God. And all I had to do was to convince you to see the light, and you would get it. You would be convinced. How could you not? It was the truth, you were big on that, no bullshit.” 

Brian bit his lower lip, wishing he could stop this; he did not want to hear this, but he forced himself to listen.

“After Hobbes hit me… I woke up realizing that I was wrong, about everything. It was just me, all along. Anyone could stop me, anytime they wanted. I was really freaked out.”

“Yeah, I know,” Brian said, quietly.

“And I started walking on eggshells around you, because I realized, it wasn’t just a given thing, me and you. That thing between us. I had made it all up, out of sheer will. And I was terrified you were gonna call me on it, tell me I was full of shit, just completely wrong, all along. And that would be the end of it. So I needed to hear, I so needed to hear from you that it wasn’t just me, that you knew about that thing I used to believe in, I needed you to help me find it again. But you didn’t. And so I found someone who would tell me that thing existed, even if it wasn’t you.”

Brian closed his eyes, with no idea of what to do about this. He could feel a pressure building inside him with nowhere to go.

“But Ethan was bullshit too, it was all just me making up stuff to believe in, again.” Justin paused, took a deep breath. “Brian, I know you love me. When you took me back without punishing me for fucking up with Ethan…”

“You did what you had to do.” Brian did not open his eyes. He couldn’t bear what he might see. 

“Yeah, that’s what I mean. When you let me come back, understanding it all… I knew then that you love me. But then, it was like…” Justin stopped. 

Brian opened his eyes, saw that Justin had crossed his arms and was looking away, toward the door. “What? It was like what?”

“It was like… I realized that I made everything up. I knew you loved me, and I still love you, but…”

“Justin, damn it…”

“It just wasn’t the same. I was afraid. I’m still afraid, all the time, that it’ll just go away. Before Chris hit me, I thought there was something there, something that wasn’t just me or you, something bigger than us, meant to be. Like a mountain we sat on or something. Or, like a house built just for us. After I woke up… it was gone. That belief. The conviction. I felt like I couldn’t believe in anything.” He shifted, closing the distance, putting his forehead on Brian’s shoulder. “Everything that happened to me after I came out, my father, Hobbes, even you… I just felt, I lost something. Something essential to who I am… was.”

Brian reached over, stroked his hair. “It’s better this way.”

Justin barked a laugh of disbelief, raised his head, and grabbed Brian’s hand. “Better? It feels like shit!”

“Yeah, and you’re in the real world. You see the way the world is. You find what you want to believe in, you don’t make things up, instead you find things that really exist because you choose them for yourself. Not the fairy tale shit, none of your roses and signs from God. Real world, every day, gritty things that mean something. You’re in control of where you want to be, and what defines you for yourself. Nobody else makes a house for you, Justin, you build one yourself. And if you don’t work on it, it disappears.” 

“I guess that’s what I’m getting at. Rage is mine. It’s not someone else, outside my control. I’m just not so sure I like this new world I woke up into. Sometimes I’m not sure I like myself anymore.”

“I do.” Brian shifted, turned his weight on the body next to him, forcing Justin down on the bed. He stretched over him, leaned down, took the flesh of Justin’s neck in his teeth and sucked on it gently. Then he lifted his head. “But maybe I’m wrong.” He leaned in again, kissed Justin, then turned his attention to the jaw line.

“About what? You don’t like me? Brian?” Justin shoved at his shoulder, half-heartedly. 

Brian propped himself up on his elbows, framed the young man’s face in his forearms, and twined the blond hair around his fingers. “Not that. I think we create what we believe in. But maybe… anything you create, even with someone else, well, maybe it’s bigger than just your idea of it.”

Justin chuckled. “I know you don’t believe that.”

Brian raised his head from exploring the space at the top of Justin’s jaw, just below the ear. “You don’t know what I could believe. Besides, you’ve been gone two months. The world has changed.” He kissed him again, lingering, then pulled back, laughing at the way Justin’s head strained upward, following his retreating lips. “And I’ve been through life-changing events myself, recently.” He became more serious. “Things always change. But if you figure out you can change with them, then you can stay on top of it. You can’t just mourn what you’ve lost, you can also appreciate what you’ve gained.” 

“Do you ever listen your own advice?”

Brian knew then how to relieve the pressure that had built inside, as if it were ever in doubt; he ran his tongue along Justin’s clavicle, then bit his way up his neck. He hesitated at his chin, and pulled back. Justin opened his eyes, a smile on his lips for the first time since they had walked into the shitty little apartment. Better. Brian said, “That advice is just for you, not for me. You keep saying you’re not me. From the first night you showed up, you were well on your way to being your own strong, outspoken, incredibly hot homosexual. No matter whose life you chose to force your way into.” 

“Ugh, that again, I must have been so totally annoying.” 

“Yeah…” Brian rolled onto his back, staring at the ceiling. “There was this kid, following me around, and fuck if I was responsible for him, but fuck if he wasn’t the most…” 

“What?” Justin ran his hand down Brian’s chest, lingering in the spot just over his right biceps, an area of heightened sensitivity that never failed to gain a reaction.

Brian drew in his breath sharply. “Ever the persistent one… You were just ripe, the temptation was too big for me. I had to keep biting into you.” 

That did it; Justin was instantly hard. He pounced, pinning Brian's arms overhead. “Yeah? Did you expect me to bite back?” Justin leaned down, nipping at Brian’s neck, on the way down to more interesting places. When he reached Brian’s stomach, he looked up. “Hey, Brian…”

“Hmph?” The feeling of the sure fingers lightly skimming the inside of his thighs, moving upward, had brought Brian closer to his favorite place where it was all sensation and no thinking.

“You should just ask me yourself.” Justin meant, if you want me to come home, but he didn’t add that. He was afraid Brian would actually take him up on it. And he didn’t know how he would respond. He wasn’t really ready to answer, but he knew he wanted to be asked.

“For fuck’s sake… fine. Will you please blow me?”

Relieved he had been misunderstood, Justin pressed his lips to Brian’s skin, and joined him in feeling without thought.

 

VII: _Compromises_

 

A few weeks later, Justin caught up on his sleep and actually accepted a couple of invitations out, when production was held up for several days after Alan went into rehab. It was too late to replace him; suspending production to rework the schedule would actually be easier and cheaper in the long run. Still very expensive, but not exorbitantly so. 

Brett was ready to kill. “That asshole couldn’t wait five months to have a nervous breakdown and OD, no! He had to do it smack in the middle of filming!” He snatched a pencil from his supply, and marked a huge cross through the calendar that lay across his desk. “Fuck!”

“He did almost die,” Justin reminded him, hoping that this would calm the guy down. The story had reached Justin’s ears as soon as he hit the set. Alan and a bunch of the extras at the Mosh Pit, doing lines off the table. Lots of drinking. Did anyone know what Alan had been doing before arrival? No one claimed to have been witness to the actual intake, of course. Convulsions in the bathroom, luckily someone who gave a shit was with him when they started. Ambulance ride, hospitalization, stomach pump. Rehab and recovery, at least a week. Brett had been awake since three a.m., trying to keep the story from hitting the press. He had phoned every contact he had in the media; the best he could get them to go along with was exhaustion. Of course, the tabloids weren’t going to cooperate, but thank God there had been no photographers around. That was just shit luck. 

“And he could die for all I care, but next year, after Rage is wrapped! Fuck! Fuck, fine, where’s Tom? We need to figure out which shots we can manage without JT in them. And then get that together. What about the Zephyr shots, can’t we shoot those…”

“We’re shooting the Rage/JT shots because Mark is playing Hamlet on the Common in Boston for the next week,” Brendan, Brett’s assistant, reminded him. 

Brett threw his hands up in the air. “Go find me Tom, Brendan. Bring him back here.” He turned to Justin. “Jesus, this sucks, you got any ideas?”

“Well, most of the movie involves the three main characters, but I’d think you could probably get some of the club shots, filler stuff. And Rage brooding and beating up straight guys.” 

“Yeah, yeah, we could do that. Good idea.” 

Brendan and Tom came into the office. “Okay so,” Brett started without greeting. “We can probably get Rage shots at the club without JT…”

“Uh uh,” Brendan shook his head.

“What do you mean, no?” 

“You might want to talk to Alison, but she told me that the club we’re using for the long shots won’t let us in until Mondays and maybe Tuesdays, during the day.”

“So, find another one.” 

Tom actually squawked. “And totally rework the reproduction of the bar we’ve already built to match something new?”

“Besides,” Brendan answered, “hiring hasn’t even started on the extras. It’ll take until at least Monday to find and set up new place, even if we can manage to get them to accommodate an earlier shoot…”

“Well, shit, just grab people off the street…”

“You know damn well we can’t just do that. Besides, the foreground extras, including the big dance sequence thing…”

“I thought it was an orgy scene,” Justin raised his eyebrows.

Brett looked somewhat uncomfortable. “Yeah, well, there’s no way we could get that by and still maintain an R rating, and NC-17, we all know, is the kiss of death. Rage is going to be kind of tough to keep out of that rating as it is.”

“Because it’s gay sex?”

“It’s a miracle we’re getting by with it at all in a feature film,” Tom put in. “Anyway, we can’t exactly pull together a hundred extras in a day, block out the scene, to say nothing of the fact that today’s Wednesday and we won’t have the club for what, five days anyway. If next week at all.” 

Brett was silent. “Okay, how about this. We shoot a scene of Rage establishing his sexual dominance over some other guy besides JT in the loft…” 

“Yeah, but where are you going to put it in the script?” Justin asked. “The only scene with another guy, JT’s there, it established his loss of naïveté. Rage isn’t cruel, he’s got integrity, it’s just kind of fucked.”

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Tom bit off, “when it comes to hundreds of thousands of dollars, integrity kind of takes a back seat.”

Justin frowned, looked over at Brett, but Brett was staring down at his calendar. “Shit, don’t tell me we’re going to have to work a script change,” he muttered. Then he looked up, saw Justin staring at him. “Yeah, I know. But think of it this way. If we don’t compromise some, save some of what the losses are going to total, the producers will just cancel the whole thing and take it as a tax write-off. Happens all the time.” He returned Justin’s stare. 

Happens all the time. Shit. Justin studied Brett’s face, searching for some reassurance he did not find. Instead, Ben’s warning rang in his words. Why, exactly, hadn’t he and Michael retained creative control? A tweak in the script here, the loss of an orgy there… what exactly would this thing look like in the end, anyway? He had a sudden, uncomfortable conviction that it wasn’t going to be at all what he had imagined.

But what would he have done if he had retained creative control? Would he have told both these guys that there was no way they’d be tampering with the original script they’d all agreed on? Halted production and pushed back the original schedule? This was hardly art school, where he could get taken out with the flu and then go ask his professor for an extension on a project that couldn’t be worked on for three days. “How about the ad agency, then?” he suggested. “Shoot those scenes now.”

Brett looked over at Tom, who raised his eyebrows. Then he turned to Brendan, who had been sitting by, waiting for instruction. “You think you can talk to um, what’s her name at Millenium…”

“Linda.”

“Yeah, Linda, do you think she’ll go for turning her office into a movie set a month early?”

“With the amount of money they’ll be collecting handling publicity?” Brendan smirked. “Yeah, I think she’ll go for it. If we stay on schedule for a Saturday/Sunday shoot.”

Brett rubbed his lip. “Yeah, okay… see if you can line up the club scene and the dance shoot on Monday and Tuesday, and talk to Linda about this weekend down at the office. If not this weekend, then the club scene. If not that, then Millenium for the weekend following, and don’t tell me, for fuck’s sake, that we’re going to have to consider anything beyond a delay of more than a week and a half. ‘Kay?” He glanced over at Tom. “Think we can do this?” 

“Sure, not much set up is needed for the office. But someone’s going to have to get the script to Connor and tell him why he needs to learn a different scene in two days.”

“Oh, fuck. That guy…” All four men glanced at each other and shook their heads. Then three pairs of eyes zeroed in on Brendan. 

“Yeah, yeah, fine, I get it.” He stood up. “I’ll go get a copy of the scenes and go deal with him.”

“In the meantime, we’re shutting down for at least a couple days, send people home, I’m not gonna pay for them to loaf around. Justin, that includes you, go get some sleep.”

Justin stood up. “I don’t know how you do it, Brett.”

“Oh, he’s a madman,” Tom said dryly. 

Brett just laughed. 

 

***

So technically everything was settled; they were just shifting scenes around. But Justin still had a bad feeling two days later, when he found himself sitting with Robin and a bunch of other film people on a café terrace looking out over the Pacific. The sun was on his face, he had caught up on his sleep, he’d be working on the movie again tomorrow, and he had spoken to Brian that morning. Brian said he might be coming back to California sometime soon, so everything was fine. 

So why did he feel so uneasy? 

That damn contract. No definitive creative control. Brett still deferred to him, but mostly because he believed in the project. Millions of dollars did a lot to sway belief. 

Justin sipped on his beer and eyed the beautiful men walking by on the sidewalk that fronted the beach, just across the road from where they sat. 

“Hey, Justin!” 

“Uh, sorry?” He turned his gaze back 

“See anything you like?” Robin teased. 

“Pretty much everything,” Justin replied with a slight smile.

“A little better than out in Pittsburgh, huh?” This from Gail, who Justin remembered from the sets; for the life of him, he had no idea what she did. There were so many people crawling around the lot that he couldn’t keep track of anyone. 

“All but one,” Justin agreed, vaguely annoyed at the casual dismissal of his home city by these people who had never actually been to Pennsylvania. Still, as a particularly toned young man strolled by, his blonde hair accentuating his tan – and he wasn’t even the best of the bunch out there – Justin found himself inclined to agree with the assessment. 

“Yeah, that real Rage guy is beautiful. That why you haven’t let Connor fuck you?” This from Steve. Connor had made more than a couple, unsubtle passes at Justin, once on the set, actually telling him, fairly loudly, that he should come blow the big star. Justin had declined. Humorously, of course. Tom had a bit of a temper. After that, Robin had informed him that there had been a bet set up among everyone else on the set – who could get a blow job from Justin? Justin had _gotten_ a couple of blow jobs, but he had yet to return the favor, and that’s what the gamblers were betting on. Robin hadn’t told anyone she’d told Justin about the wagering; she was too busy making money betting against people. Justin let her, since she gave him a cut of her take. And he hadn’t let Connor touch him, no way, and not just because he was making money through refusal. That guy’s personality did absolutely nothing to make Justin want to fuck him again.

“Brian,” Justin supplied, in response to Steve’s comment. Brian was not “that real Rage guy.” Somewhere along the line, recently, Brian had stopped being Rage for him. He wondered why, even as he knew without doubt it was so. 

“Yeah, Brian. If he’s Rage, you’re hardly monogamous. Details?” Gail demanded. 

Justin shrugged. Brian was not simply an object to be shared, not even in absentia, fuck you very much. Brian himself might disagree and find the presumption amusing. Justin did not. 

“Oh, please, I practically walked in on you with Garrett on his knees in front of you. And you’re withholding now?’ Robin chided him.

“Hey, Robin, you’re not exactly one to talk,” Gail snorted. “At least Justin was in an office with the door closed.” Justin rolled his eyes at Robin, who had obviously told everyone she could find about the Garrett thing. Gail continued, “I’m still not thrilled about walking into Rage’s lair and seeing you on all fours with that guy…”

“Robbie, the best boy,” Robin supplied. “But he was only pretty good, not the best.” Everyone groaned at the pun. 

“So, Connor’s not everyone’s type. I can see why Justin would want to save his ass for Brian,” Grace, another assistant, thought she was helping Justin out. Damn, Justin had hoped the conversation would get away from his sex life. He certainly did not want to discuss his relationship with Brian with anyone right now, especially not these people. Gossip was like a sport of choice around here.

“Really?” Steve asked. “I thought Connor was everyone’s type. I mean, I know why he doesn’t appeal to me, but that’s only because I prefer pussy. Didn’t stop him from trying with me, though.” 

“Let me tell you, Justin, you’re not missing out on much. ‘Ooh, Gail, lick it harder, oh, God, you’re so good, you’re the best baby…’” Everyone laughed at that, even Justin, who remembered pretty much the same soundtrack, insert your name here. Connor was an equal opportunity fucker. 

“Nah, I’ve just been adjusting. Working. Catching up on sleep. How does everyone do it around here? Work all day, then party all night?” 

Grace supplied, “Brett’s just weird like that, but he’s the exception. A freak of nature. He only needs like, three hours of sleep. He just works, and parties to network. The rest of us, we just pop a little helper when necessary. How else would you work without falling asleep constantly?”

“Hey, you think that’s part of what put Alan into a coma?” Robin asked. 

“He didn’t go into a coma, he just went into convulsions,” Steve returned. “Besides, Rox told me he was doing speedballs like a madman before they went out to the club. You think after River Phoenix, they’d know better…” 

Robin said, “Yeah, well, Justin’s apparently not quite up to speed,” she emphasized the last word, “But I’m sure we can hook you up. That way, you won’t need to wait for another delay in filming to catch up on your energy.”

“Another delay?”

“Oh, please, we’re talking Brett here. He’s a genius, but tends to sweat every detail. If it isn’t perfect, exactly what he wants, we all wait around. You haven’t noticed that yet?”

“I know Tom sure loves to micro-manage,” Justin grumbled. That guy would make him go over the brands of yogurt he planned to choose if Tom sent him to pick up his favorite afternoon snack. Which he was not above doing.

“Yeah, that guy’s an asshole, but he’s good at his job,” Robin added, sipping her beer. “Just let us know if you need an extra kick.” 

Justin shrugged. “Well, thanks, but I can’t do that shit. I’m allergic to like, everything. The things I can take are not conducive to work.”

They all laughed at that. “I’m sure we can get that other stuff for you too!” Grace returned. 

“Just keep it away from Alan,” Robin finished dryly. 

“You think if you take his drugs away, he’d be able to keep it up? Alan doesn’t really fuck anyone, too into upper, downers…”

“Sidewards,” Robin finished. “But is he gorgeous or what?”

“Don’t forget rich,” Grace added, signaling for more drinks. “If he does clean up, I’ll take a shot at that dick. Or is he pure gay?”

“Is there a term for sexually attracted to narcotics?” 

Justin felt tired again, and suddenly very, very bored. His gaze turned away from the people at the table and skimmed over all those beautiful bodies littering on the beach, before moving out over the ocean, reaching past the horizon for something that was not there.

 

***

“Oh, God, Brian, thank you so much for doing this for me,” Lindsay said for the twentieth time, putting in her earrings and looking at herself in the mirror over the sink. 

Brian put Gus down on the floor in front of the television, and moved toward the bathroom, watching as she retouched her lipstick. He leaned against the door jamb. “You look fine, Lindsay, now come have a drink and calm down.” He walked back out into the living room, and crossed into the kitchen.

He had not been sure what to expect, and was gratified at how beautiful her apartment was. The living room, kitchen and eating area were all in one big, open area. On the walls hung a variety of art deco pieces, and at least one Sam Auerbach work that had to be worth a fortune. The furniture was slate colored – Brian supposed this was a nod to Gus, picking a color that could absorb spills. The art on the wall and the pillows on the couch were magnificently colorful, offsetting the darker grey of the furniture and the light grey walls. 

Brian opened the refrigerator, took out a bottle of Chardonnay, and filled the two wine glasses he’d found in the cabinet to the right of the sink. Right where they belonged, child safe and logical for guests. 

“Glad you got away from that ‘all Pottery Barn, all the time’ look,” Brian commented, coming back to the living area and handing her a glass. 

Lindsay took the wine from him, gratefully taking a sip. “Well, that was Mel’s preference, actually. I just went along with it because…” She stopped, laughed slightly. “Well, it was just easier. But thank you. This is much more me.”

“And is dating men much more you, too?” Brian reclined in the chair across from her. He shoved Gus’s books aside to clear a space for his bare feet on the coffee table, its funky metallic frame supporting a surface of grey, white and black stonework. 

Lindsay didn’t answer him immediately, but just took a longer sip of her wine. Then she said, “You know, I don’t know.” She watched Gus pick up a plastic hammer, before he started pounding the oddly shaped plastic pieces into place on his toy work bench. “I’m a lesbian. I know that. But I started wondering if I was just saying I was to keep the peace with Melanie. I fucked up with Sam, I did, but part of me… he was right. I wanted more, more for myself. So much of what I said in that last month was just a continuation of the same old song, making sure no one was upset, making sure I was the right partner, the right daughter, the right everything.” She groaned, put the wine glass down on the coffee table and buried her face in her hands. “Why am I dating, at all, anyway?”

“Because you need to discover who you are,” Brian said dryly. 

Lindsay spread her fingers and peeked out from between them with a scowl. “Couldn’t I have just been satisfied with the new apartment for at least a few months? Or even years?”

The intercom signaled that someone was at the front entrance. Lindsay jumped. Brian didn’t. “Hey, invite him up so I can meet him.”

“Yeah, somehow, I don’t think so,” Lindsay said, standing, grabbing her wrap, and bending down to kiss Gus on the top of his head. “Bye, baby,” she said, heading for the door. 

 

***

She returned four hours later, collapsed into the chair and eyed Brian’s sleeping frame. “Brian. Brian!” 

He opened an eye, then two, then he yawned and sat up. “Hey.”

“How was Gus?”

“I ate him. Want the leftovers?” He lifted his arms overhead, and stretched. “He’s fine, of course, didn’t cry, sleeps like a rock. How was your man? Get laid?”

Lindsay rolled her eyes, stood up, and walked to the second bedroom to peer in on Gus. When she came back, Brian had two beers in front of him, and was busy popping the caps. Lindsay took one gratefully before she sank down onto the couch. 

“God, what is wrong with men?” she moaned, after downing a good third of the bottle’s contents. 

Brian raised his eyebrows. “Well, someone really has joined the other team, you’re reciting the anthem of straight women everywhere.”

“Hate to tell you, Brian, but that’s a line for all women, not just the straight ones.”

“So, did you get laid?”

Eye roll in response. “No. But I’m thinking I definitely prefer women.”

“Ah.”

“Seriously, what is wrong with men? He spent the entire night talking about himself. I mean, this guy is a major art dealer, so yes, I’m interested in the subject matter, but were we ever going to talk about me?”

“You let people run over you. You need to stick up for yourself.”

Lindsay’s mood was not exactly conducive to what she perceived as an attack. “Oh, bullshit, Brian, just because I’m considerate doesn’t mean I have no sense of self. Maybe I’m looking for the person with whom it won’t be a competition for dominance right out of the gate.” 

“People shove until you shove back.”

“Excuse me, men do that until you shove back.”

“And Mel didn’t do that to you?”

“What, are you saying I was with Mel because I really wanted to be with a man?” 

Brian raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t thought that at all, but if she wanted to pursue the idea, hey, who was he to stop her? 

“That’s just great, now you think I’m just looking for a man in a woman's body.” 

“Or maybe,” Brian said, wanting to steer this conversation away from female anatomy, “you want a woman who’s going to be the kind of woman you need, not a man at all.”

Lindsay lowered her beer bottle, and looked over at Brian, really stared at him. That stopped her from the rant that had building up in her throat. Damn. She had been so ready to take out her frustration and misery on the man sitting across from her. “You know, just when you seem to be needling for no good reason but the sheer perversity of it all, you come out with these truly perceptive statements.” 

“Too bad so few hear them.”

“I know, I am exceptional,” Lindsay grinned. Brian laughed slightly, not expecting that. Usually Lindsay was so modest. He credited himself, of course. He should have been hanging out with Lindsay and Mel, all along. Providing the good influence. 

“I am off; my words having been received, my job here done.” He stood, looked around for his shoes. 

“Going home?”

“Michael called, I think I’ll grab a drink at Woody’s.” And maybe a blow job. He doubted Lindsay would want to hear about that. But did she read that last thought from his head? She was looking at him so oddly. “What?” he asked sharply. It always annoyed him when he couldn’t read other people’s thoughts in return. 

“Nothing,” she said softly, looking away.

He shrugged, pulling on his socks, and then his boots. 

“It’s just…”

Oh, god. He hated any topic that started out with that.

“I just worry about you, Brian. You offer helpful words to me. I know I shouldn’t say anything…”

“Either say it or don’t,” he clipped off. 

She set the now empty beer on the coffee table. “I just worry, with Justin in Hollywood. About you… and Michael.”

Brian laughed. “What, you think Michael’s going to swoop in and plant his flag on my vacated ass?”

She shook her head. “Not that necessarily. It’s just that you have this picture of Michael as this innocent, lonely kid, Brian, and he isn’t. Michael has his own agenda. What’s good for other people doesn’t necessarily get in the way of that.” She looked away. “Maybe I’m just reacting in the extreme because I’m facing a pending divorce, I seem to be seeing the downside everywhere…” 

Brian just shrugged, patting the pockets of his jeans to be sure his car keys were there, and hadn’t slipped out while he slept on the couch. “Michael’s married, with kid. He’s got what he always wanted. There are no hidden motivations, he’s way too transparent for that.”

Lindsay shook her head, but shut up. Brian always was an idiot when it came to Michael; he had a blind spot there. But she was not about to pursue this tonight. She was not the person to undo twenty years of a slowly increasingly dysfunctional friendship, she had too many of her own fucked-up relationships to deal with. She had a feeling Brian could handle Michael on his own; he always had. She wished he would do a little fighting for his relationship with Justin. But how can you fight when you don’t see the opposition? Then again, maybe she really was just being cynical, seeing danger lurking behind every lovers’ pairing because of the breakup of her own. She accepted the kiss on her cheek that Brian left her with, and turned on the television, picking up the half-empty beer Brian had left behind. Oh, hell, why waste it?

***

“So, how ‘bout that guy?” Michael gestured with his glass, and Brian glanced over his shoulder at the pretty, dark man bending over the pool table. He shrugged, turned back to face the bar, took a sip of whiskey. Had it always been so fucking loud in here?

“Had him already,” Brian said shortly.

“Oh, well, so what? He’s hot, and Justin isn’t around to enforce that rule,” Michael urged. 

“Hey, how bout you go after him yourself? He’s hot, and Ben isn’t around.” Justin had nothing to do with it. Brian just didn’t do seconds. Justin was not the rule enforcer, just the exception to the rules.

“Yeah, right,” Michael returned. “I’m married, remember? You’re not, and it’s not like you’re ever going to do the faithful thing.”

Brian raised an eyebrow. Well, that was probably true. About the physical stuff, anyway. On the other hand, he hated anyone telling him what he would and wouldn’t do. Knee jerk reaction, Brian knew, and he dismissed his immediate flare of annoyance, taking another sip of whiskey instead. 

“How ‘bout him?” Michael nodded to a sandy-haired kid who had taken a seat at the end of the bar. 

Brian took one look, and laughed. “Yeah, what is he, like ten?” 

“That never stopped you before,” Michael pointed out, not naming names, of course. 

“And how is your faithful family life?” Change of subject. Brian had thought he wanted a blow job, and was surprised that once he got here he had had no real desire to actively pursue anyone. Force of habit had him eyeing the goods, and of course, as usual, they were all eyeing him back. Michael’s encouragement used to be all he needed. Hell, he hadn't needed any encouragement at all. But the audience he played to these days wasn’t around, and it sure as hell wasn't Michael. A great deal of the thrill had left the state with Justin. “Well?” Brian asked, definitely needing to change the subject. And the line of thought that had come with it. 

“Huh?”

“How are things at the Bruckner-Novotny home?” God, it drove him nuts that Michael had not pushed to keep own surname in the lead position. Nope, had to be Ben’s name. Ben sure loved that, Brian had no doubt. Not that there was any doubt, if Brian ever faced that kind of a decision, where his surname would go. Definitely Kinney-Taylor, Justin would just have to… well, fuck me. What the fuck. What the fuck was he thinking!?! 

He ripped his attention back to Michael. “Well?” 

“Actually, it’s the Bruckner-Novotny/Marcus home these days.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“Melanie asked us to move in, and since there’s a lot more space, we’re moving in this weekend. I was going to ask you to help with moving, but Ted said you were headed back to California.”

Remind him to thank Ted for that lie later. Or maybe it wouldn’t be a lie, not if he wanted to spend the weekend in a non-stop fuck fest… shit. He would not go running off to Justin every five minutes. The kid had an entire life of his own going on, on a far-off coast. Justin had made his choice. Fuck if Brian was going to run after him. “You’re moving in with Melanie?”

“Yeah, she needs help with the baby.”

“So Lindsay's help was out of the question? Isn’t that her child, too?” 

“But they split up!” Michael gazed at his friend in astonishment. 

“Yeah, like five minutes ago.” 

“It’s been months, Brian. It isn’t easy, being a single mother…” 

Brian groaned. Loudly. “Maybe Mel wouldn’t be a single mother if she had to ask Lindsay for help? Maybe it might be better if Linds and Mel had the option of trying to work things out.”

“Better? Better for who?”

Not for you, Brian thought. So this was what Lindsay had been trying to tell him earlier. That conversation made a lot more sense now. “Hey, I gotta go,” he said, throwing down a twenty on the bar.

“But you just go here!” Michael protested. “It’s not like you have anyone to get home to.”

“But you do, so why aren’t you with them?” Brian bit off, before turning his back and heading out. Apparently Michael had found a situation where he could come and go at will. There would always be someone around to take care of Jenny, and Michael could play up-close happy dad while still meeting his supposed best friend out for drinks to remind him of everything he, Michael, now had surrounding him, while said best friend went home alone to an empty loft. Mikey no more, Michael Bruckner-Novotny/Marcus, thank you very much. 

Brian shook his head, getting to the Corvette and sliding in for the drive home. Michael wasn’t that manipulative. He, Brian, was that manipulative, and obviously capable of projecting his own deviousness onto Mikey, who was just clueless sometimes. 

Brian certainly wasn’t about to admit feeling pissed off. Just another knee-jerk reaction, it meant nothing. It would pass. 

On the way home, he called Justin’s cell. There was no answer, and he hung up on the answering service.

***

“So, here are the contracts for Buzz Stanhope.” Ted finished his proposal regarding Drew Boyd’s replacement. He set down the paperwork concerning Buzz with a flourish. “Browning Investigations gave an all clear – the guy’s not married, and has a very active sex life with pretty much the entire straight female population of the Bay area. Not kinky, just plain old straightforward fucking, in his own home, or hers. A bit promiscuous, but always discreet. He likes them gorgeous, usually blonde, but also redheads, preferably mid-twenties, but occasionally up into the thirties. No scandal.” He smiled slightly as Brian looked over the papers. “And, his agent says he is thrilled to be given the opportunity.”

“Yeah, of course, they all say that.”

“Oh. Well, since this is my first gushing celebrity suck-up, I’ll take it before I devolve to blasé. If I ever do. Who knows when anyone will kiss my ass again. Oh, and the numbers are nicely crunched on page four. I think we’re all set,” Ted finished. 

“Good work, Ted. Oh, and excellent work telling Michael I’d be out in California to finish this up, as if no one on the West coast has faxes. Or computers.”

“Hmph, well, actually, you’re welcome, but I did it as much for me as you. For the record, _we_ are out in California getting the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed.”

Brian glanced up from the contract, surprised. Ted had gotten a set of brass testicles somewhere along the line. Maybe the spirit of Brian’s own eliminated ball had permeated the air at the agency. The Ghost of Testicles Past. 

Ted continued, “Just be sure to stay out of the clubs Saturday night. Keep to Grindr. Or maybe you can go to Lindsay’s, I’m sure she won’t rat you out. Unless she has another date…” 

“So you know all about Lindsay’s dates, then.”

“Well, when you actually were out in California, she needed someone to sit for her because she had some art gallery thing. She called me since her usual babysitter canceled. Said a guy’d asked her out, and if I was maybe free the next weekend… shocked the hell out of me. I guess she and Cynthia can have a few conversations now.”

“I don’t think Lindsay’s gone straight,” Brian responded, annoyed now. Lindsay was going through something. Maybe Melanie wasn’t her soul mate, but fuck if that meant she was throwing in the towel on women. By her own words, she considered herself a lesbian. Fuck, she just liked rolling over and taking bullshit, a lot more than was good for her, so she gravitated toward more masculine types. At least she was starting to see it. So what, she was supposed to suddenly give into the life of a straight woman who sought out jerks, doomed to that fate? Fuck that.

“No, I mean because Cynthia plays for both teams.” Ted caught Brian’s sudden look. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know?” he chuckled. “The topics of business and pleasure only mix when the subject is horny men, not horny women? Well, far be it from me to chide you for that. Horny women like me, it’s a curse.” 

“I’ll bet,” Brian replied smoothly. “Thanks for the contracts, Ted, I’ll be sure to look these over before our weekend get-away.” He shuddered, imagining sitting on a plane next to Ted for eight hours.

Ted got the hint. “All right, let me know if there’s anything else I can do.”

 

***

“Brian, you wanted to see me?” 

Brian looked up at his secretary. “Yes, I did, Cynthia.” He paused to give her the once over. She was very different from Melanie, but still had the masculine energy Lindsay liked. On the other hand, she knew when to back off, when to accommodate. God knows she read Brian perfectly. “How long have we known each other? Five years?”

“Seven,” Cynthia answered, starting to get nervous. Oh, god, what had she done wrong? Her mind flashed back through the morning, the week. Should she think back a month? Shit, Brian would have screamed bloody murder long before this if anything had gone bad that long ago. Unless he was planning a murder… nah, not that. Well, maybe.

“And in all that time, I haven’t asked you about your personal life at all. You’re single, though, right? You do date.” 

Okay, what was this? had she gone out with a rival ad person recently? No. She couldn’t think of anybody in the industry she had been near for a meal or even coffee outside of networking functions. Maybe one of the rival agencies had sent in a decoy to try to pry their upcoming campaigns out of her with liquor and sex. There was that one time two years ago. And hell, she’d gotten free liquor, food and a couple of satisfying fucks out of those deals without giving anything up. That must be it; Brian had caught wind of that incident when they were at Vanguard…“I’m sorry, what?” She had missed what he was saying.

“What I’m about to ask you may be… unusual, so feel free to tell me to fuck off.”

Oh. So not that. If someone was trying to spy, he would have just told her to stay away. Not that she ever talked about current projects outside the work place. She wasn’t an idiot. Oh, god, what did he want now. “Um… let me sit down.” Cynthia sat, and crossed her arms over her chest. She knew her boss. 

“You are single?”

“At the moment.” She frowned, thinking. Then the look on her face turned dark. “Please, please tell me you aren’t expecting me to whore for accounts now, Brian, that’s going a bit far, even for you. There are limits to what I’ll do for you, you know…”

“No, no, nothing like that,” Brian reassured her. Then he cocked his head to the side, in a way that Cynthia found completely bone-melting, that fucker. He had to know how he looked, the effect that look had on, well, pretty much everyone. She would not be surprised to learn he practiced in a mirror. Or on Justin. Probably not on Justin, every look from him turned Justin on; practice sessions would last about 20 seconds and turn into the real thing. She shook her head from turning her mind’s eye to favorite memories of walking in on those two. Yum, yum. But no. This conversation was getting downright weird, she needed to focus. 

Brian was asking her, “ _Would_ you whore for an account? There’s this orange juice company I’ve got my eye on, the owner’s just divorced… Cynthia, I’m kidding,” he added quickly when she started getting up. She sank back into the chair, and crossed her arms again. Her teeth were starting to clench. 

“No, really, I’m kidding! So, seriously. You know Lindsay?”

“Yeah, blonde woman, mother of your child, married to Melanie, arty type, Justin loves her. I know her.”

“She and Mel broke up.”

“Oh, wow. That’s too bad. Do you want to find the right consolation gift, sort of, sorry you’re sleeping alone, get her one of those giant plush teddy bears to sleep with at night? Rub up against?” Cynthia actually smirked. 

“Or something…” Brian muttered. This was really, really stupid. He cleared his throat. “Uh, you know, I know I haven’t really asked which side of the plate you swing on…” 

Cynthia’s mouth almost dropped open. Brian, using worn-out clichés, really really tired metaphors to get at her sexual preference? What the fuck did this have to do with Lindsay?… and then light dawned, and she almost laughed. The horrifyingly pained look on his face stopped her, but the laugh was right under her words. “Brian, are you trying to set me up on a date with the mother of your child?” Poor Brian, he had no clue when it came to this sort of thing. She had always done this type of work for him, bought gifts for him to give Debbie, Lindsay, Gus even. How cute was this? Normally, he would have handed the "set up a date for my friend" job to her. He was just so awful at this, showing that he gave a shit about someone else, putting himself out there. And being Brian, if he couldn’t be the best at something, well, why bother even working to improve? So here he was, fumbling. Brian. She'd never seen it. It was adorable. 

Brian looked away, muttering, “Yeah, I knew this was stupid.”

But now Cynthia really was laughing. “Are you kidding? Lindsay’s totally hot. I’d love to date her. So how’d you find out?”

“Find out what?”

“That I’m bi.”

“You are, then.”

“Well, actually I prefer women. But hey, nothing wrong with a good hard dick every so often.”

“I’m certainly not going to contradict that. I haven’t actually asked Lindsay, you know, I wanted to feel you out first.”

Yeah, I wish you wanted to feel me up, er, _out_ first, Cynthia thought. Some days she really wished she were a guy, usually when Brian was in the kind of mood he seemed to be in today. Actually, she wished she were Justin, sometimes. But then Brian would start demanding the impossible, and become a complete pain in the ass in the face of all logic, decency and common sense, at least once a day. She thanked god she only had to deal with it at work. 

“Sure. Have her call me. If she’s interested. I’m assuming you have some fabulous date tickets available?”

“How about Rent tickets?”

“That’ll do. They better be good seats,” she finished. “And reservations at one of those fancy Italian places you like so much. On your tab? Just to get us started out, of course.” She stood up. “That all?”

Brian handed her the contracts Ted had dropped off earlier. “Can you fax these out to Buzz’s agent? And you can put the date on the company tab.” She grinned and saluted before turning her back and leaving the office. 

Brian shook his head, wondering what the fuck he was doing, and then turned back to work. Work was much easier to handle. 

***

Justin called him while he was driving home. 

“Hey, what’s up in Pittsburgh?”

“It is the first absolutely gorgeous summer day of the year.”

“Birds singing, sun shining?”

“You got it.”

“Every day’s like that out here.” Justin’s tone was more wistful than gloating. 

“You don’t seem so thrilled, something wrong in La-La Land?”

“Not really. Well, there’s a problem with one of the actors, and the set had to be shut down for a few days. They had to re-work the shooting schedule. It played havoc with the budget, but I got a couple of days off.” Days that were stretching out into more than a couple.

“That why you didn’t answer your phone last night? Too busy finally working your way through the clubs?”

“The guys here are unbelievably hot.”

“Yeah, I saw them. So, how many blow jobs did you get?”

“Two blow jobs, and fucked two other guys, in three clubs. I think my dick was ready to fall off. I should have gotten more sleep instead. How ‘bout you? Between Woody’s and Babylon, how many?”

“Actually, I was babysitting Gus last night, and I've had a ton of work.” There was a pause. At Justin’s silence, Brian laughed slightly. “I didn’t realize that was a conversation stopper.”

“No, I just… miss the little guy. How’s he doing? How’s Lindsay?”

“Well, he misses you. He seems to think we’re a set, he asked me three times last night when you’d be over.”

“Oh. What’d you tell him?”

“I told him that Justin was off having a most excellent adventure, and he would see him when he was back in town.” 

“Oh.” 

Shit. The question begged to be asked, when are you coming back? And Brian would never, never ask it. Justin had his own reasons for coming, or going, or telling him anything. It was his life.

Brian was almost tired of that phrase’s repetition in his head. Even if it was the truth. He cleared his throat. “By the way, did you know Daphne blind copied me on that last email she sent you?”

“What? She bcc’d you?” Justin thought back to that email, which he had responded to a bit sharply. He felt bad about that; he’d been tired, but she had been pushy. 

“Yeah, can you tell her that you’ll be home when you’re good and ready? It’s getting old.” And too much of a reminder of the futility of trying to push Justin to do anything when he had his own ideas of what he wanted in life. 

“I already did. If I had known she’d cc’d you, I would have copied you in my reply. I can still forward you what I wrote to her.” 

“Unnecessary, I felt like an eavesdropper as it was. Which is exactly what I told her.” 

Justin paused. He really wanted to ask if it were true, what Daphne had said in the email, that everyone missed him, especially Brian who was too much of a shithead to admit, even to himself, just how much. He could imagine Brian’s reaction to that; good thing it was email and not face to face. But then, Brian already thought Justin should go back to PIFA and get his education, and since that was the substance of most of Daphne’s email, which finished with the following: “Even if you don’t miss us as much as we miss you, you are doing yourself a major disservice by not completing your education. PIFA is one of the best art schools around, and you may be blinded by the money you’re making, the bright lights and all, and even all of the hot beautiful bodies out there, but you know the expression, beauty fades, dumb is forever. And don’t tell me that part of Brian’s appeal isn’t just his fucking unbelievably beautiful face and spectacular body, he’s also smart as they come – and that’s in part because he’s well educated. Think about it, who’d you rather be talking to at a cocktail party, who’d you rather take to your first art opening attended by the WELL EDUCATED art elite of New York - physical appeal aside, Brian or Michael?” Justin assumed Brian had forgiven the “shitthead” comment in the balance with that last part. He laughed.

“What?” Brian asked.

“I’m just thinking about how much you must have enjoyed that last part, Daphne’s going off on your spectacular beauty and wisdom.”

He didn’t want to discuss the end of that email. “Look, Justin,” she’d finished, “If you’re going to be that rich Hollywood mogul Brett keeps saying you got a shot at, it’s going to be for your ideas and your work as an artist. And you ain’t gonna develop those running coffee for some asshole on a grungy movie set. You’ve proven you’ve got the talent by selling Rage to the movie people, now get back here, develop Rage further and come up with the next awesome idea of your own, with or without Michael. And you know you can only do that by building a base starting with a good education, by learning what the big ideas are in the art and entertainment world – so get back here and get on with your life!” 

“Hey, Daphne’s a perceptive girl,” Brian responded to Justin’s last comment. “She knows both gifted and gorgeous when she sees it.” There was a pause, and Justin waited. The question was begging to be asked. Daphne’s email hovered between them, the real substance unmentioned but palpable in the not-said. Justin waited. Come on, Brian, damn it, he thought. Just fucking once, unbend.

“Well, I gotta run,” Brian finally said. “Although I would certainly love to discuss my gorgeous brains, which are not threatened by your catching up with them anytime soon.” 

That was as close as Brian would get to saying he agreed with Daphne. 

“Yeah, we’ll see. You getting out this way again anytime soon?”

“Maybe, I’ll see what I can do. Later,” and the phone went dead.

“Later.” Justin ended the call. He propped his leg up onto the wall that separated the walk from the beach, and watched the setting sun. He ached to sketch the emptying beach, the open water, the huge sky, all the open vistas stretching out before him. The tiny little people, to capture their smallness against the spectacular, overwhelming land and sea shaping this part of the earth. He hadn’t sketched anything since he’d gotten here. He’d been too busy. And it was just as easy not to; his hand always needed to rest.

“Hey, Justin, we’re off to this cool new place downtown, you’re coming, right?” Gail pulled him away from his contemplation of the water. He put his phone into his back pocket, turned toward the others, and plastered a smile on his face. Sure, the clubs waited. He wondered if Robin could score him some E. Sure, he’d go along for the night. Not much else to do.

 

VIII: _The Party_

“This definitely sucks.” Steve put title to the looks they must have been wearing when they had showed up that morning and heard that there would be yet another delay in the shoot, this time for a day, supposedly. Of course, it just might stretch out to two, three, or four days, more time tacked onto the ten days the shoot had been suspended already. But Mark was scheduled to arrive from Boston the next day, which Justin logically deduced would set work starting up again not tomorrow, but the next day. At the earliest. So at least two more days, not one. Anyway, they were all expected to be on the set tomorrow by seven, even if they were just going to be sent home. Again. 

Justin, Robin and Steve had gone to the Starbucks down the street for the morning coffee, same as usual. But this morning, they stayed there, lounging at a table by the roadside, watching the cars go by. If Justin had known the delay would stretch out this long, he would have gone back to Pittsburgh, visited Brian, and stopped in on Gus and Lindsay, Debbie and Carl. Talked to Michael about the film’s progress, or lack thereof. Gotten more sleep. He had time now to talk to Brian on the phone. But Brian didn’t. He had a business to run. 

So Justin had been partying, hitting the clubs at night and lounging around the beaches during the day. The assistants hung out with each other, and waited. Connor had called him once or twice, and he was running out of excuses to not go out with the guy. After the last call, Gail had told him he was crazy for not going out with Connor and his group of buddies, five semi well-known tv and movie stars who were all regularly in the tabloids for stirring up shit at the clubs. Justin was beginning to think maybe he should go. He was bored. 

He had managed to finally start sketching the beach scene he wanted, now that his hand had had a decent rest. Unfortunately, the scene he really wanted to capture, with the sun setting, the beach emptying, needed to be caught in the evening. And, with nothing else to do, the assistants had taken to hanging out and getting the party started well before cocktail hour, long before sunset. By the time the light and the environment was right, he was too tipsy to sketch. 

He stirred his coffee with the plastic stick, even if he was drinking it black and there was nothing to blend in. “This is not turning out as I expected,” he said, raising his cup to his lips.

“It’s always like this. Road to riches, gotta start somewhere,” Steve replied, cheerily. “You gotta just roll with it.”

Brian wouldn’t roll with it, Justin thought. Neither should I. He decided to go speak to Brett later, see what was up. It wasn’t that the director was avoiding him, it was just that with the delays, they hadn’t been forced into close contact with each other recently. And Brett was always busy, the mile-a-minute guy. Justin got exhausted just watching him. He wondered if Brett ever fucked around. Didn’t seem like it. Brett only worked, stopping for a couple hours every so often to sleep. The guy lived his work. He had nothing else, but he didn’t really need anything else either. He didn’t seem to, anyway.

“I don’t feel like I’m rolling,” Justin finally said. “I feel like I’m standing at a decision. Should I stay here and wait around? Or go back home?”

“What, give up? Just at the start of everything? Think about it, how many Pittsburgh kids are starting a whole new life in Hollywood? You gotta live the dream,” Steve replied. 

“Nothing’s quite what you expect,” Robin agreed cheerily, sipping at her latte. “But you know, this really is the way to the classic American success story thing, do what Frost tells you, choose the road less traveled.”

Justin looked at her strangely. “What do you mean?”

“You know, the poem. ‘I took the road less traveled by and that made all the difference.’” 

Justin snorted, shook his head. “All the difference, sure, but that’s not necessarily a good thing.”

“What are you talking about? He’s Frost, he took the less traveled road and became the poet of the century.”

“But the poem’s not about Frost, it’s about choices. And there was no real difference between the roads in that poem.”

Robin and Steve were looking at him as if he had grown a dick where his head was supposed to be, but Justin didn’t care. He quoted, “‘Then took the other, as just as fair, And having perhaps the better claim, Because it was grassy and wanted wear; Though as for that the passing there Had worn them really about the same…’ The speaker hasn’t stepped on either road yet, so both are untrodden, and his choice isn’t based on what they actually offer, only an arbitrary desire at the moment to take one over the other. And his entire life turns out different because of a single choice made on a whim. Frost’s poem isn’t telling us to choose less traveled paths, that’s just the narrator’s particular criteria; the poem is telling us that choices are ultimately arbitrary and personal, they make our lives what they are and they can’t be undone.”

Steve snickered. “Man, if sucking dick didn’t do it, I’d know you really are gay, you’ve got whole poems memorized.”

“It’s not about being gay, it’s about being educated,” Justin bit back, annoyed. “People think Frost is telling them one thing, but if you actually read the poem, you find out that’s not the case.”

“Yeah, well, I like the story where choosing the less worn road leads to being the poet of the century better,” Robin replied with a smile. 

“American dream, all the way.” Steve hoisted his cup, toasting. 

Justin wouldn’t have been surprised if he took a tiny flag out of his back pocket and waved it. Thank god, no jingoistic props were available to the guy at the moment. Justin said dryly, “Not exactly realistic, though, you’re more likely to just end up a failed Frost and find yourself at 70 with no retirement savings. And that, unfortunately, IS a very well-worn path.” He chose not to cut Steve down completely, though that would have been easy. Justin didn’t think Steve deserved to be the victim of his bad mood. 

“Hey, this is Hollywood, not shit reality!”

“Yeah well, my shit job and these shit delays are telling me a different story.”

Steve shook his head. “Wow, someone woke up on the wrong side of the futon! Put some Irish in your coffee boy-o.”

“It’s eight in the morning.” And it’s eleven in the morning in Pittsburgh, and I could be sleeping in, convincing Brian to stay late in bed, Justin thought, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, willing the caffeine through his veins. Why am I not there again?

Rage, he reminded himself. Rage was his baby. He needed to protect the integrity of his vision. Damn it, he had made a commitment, Rage was his. 

Now if they could only get back to shooting the damn thing.

 

***

“Yeah, I know, but terrorism is the big thing now, and you know this story is just waiting to be told, terrorists taking over a major news network by infiltrating… no, it’s not just another Manchurian Candidate, but it sure doesn’t hurt that the idea has proven successful, does it?” Brett waved Justin into his office. Justin took a seat, and waited for Brett to get off of the phone. “Are you kidding, explosions, who do you think we’re talking to? Besides, Greg’s already working with me on the project I got going now… yeah, it’s going … yup, okay, hey, I gotta go, call me back when you take a look at that, will you?… what, you’re joking, aren’t you, of course you don’t need to read the book, I’ll forward you synopsis in a day or two… All right, call me after you take a look.” He terminated the call, and turned to Justin. “Hey, Justin, what’s up!” 

“You tell me, are we going to start shooting again soon or what?” Justin got right to the point.

“Actually, I have really good news on that front,” Brett rifled through the papers scattered on his desk, pulled out a few pages stapled to each other, and handed it to Justin. “We managed to get Greg Hanville on board, and, with a slight rewrite, the ending isn’t going to be dependent on the actor’s schedules, the shooting with all the actors can be finished up three weeks earlier, basically on the original schedule factoring in the delays with the new ending…”

“New ending.” Justin took the proffered pages, and glanced through. Greg Hanville, Greg Hanville, he’d heard that name…

Oh, yeah. Big time stunt guy, specialized in car chase scenes. Retired, and coordinated the stunt work now, specifically in terms of highway race and crash scenes. 

Oh, shit, Justin hated chase movies. There was absolutely no imagination to them, as far as he was concerned. Run, chase, explosion - which was fine, but the effects meant nothing when they did not support the plot line. Very few chase movies were actually successful, as far as Justin was concerned. Well, okay, but they mostly sucked. He looked up at Brett, who was smiling down at him. “How great is that, Greg Hanville!”

“Uh, Brett, this is kind of different…”

“Yeah, I know, but we’re just going to have to cut back on some of the Rage/JT scenes. There’s enough hotness between them to light up the screen…”

“But it’s not about sex, it’s about the way the relationship develops…”

“And the audience will get that. Besides, Connor’s committed to another project for September, it’s going to be a tight enough squeeze in his schedule with the way this delay because of Alan’s… problem has us scrambling here. We could stay on the original script, but if we choose to do that, we’re going to have to wait for Connor to get back from shooting in Mexico for this other thing he’s contracted to, and god alone knows what would happen in the meantime. We have to get his scenes shot before the end of August, and cutting in the new ending will allow us to end the movie with even more of a bang. Read it, Rage saves JT in that multi-car explosion. That’ll actually translate better than JT stepping in and helping Rage bring down that pig guy he’s promoting in his everyday job, more attention-grabbing, and stays consistent to the story line. What do you think? Think we can work it?”

Justin kept hearing “we.” If he stopped lying to himself, he would have to admit that “we” no longer included him. He placed the new script back on Brett’s desk. “Oh, I’m sure we can ‘work it,’” Justin answered, gaining a grin from Brett which he did not return. “It’s just that this isn’t the Rage story I wrote.”

“But it doesn’t betray the characters, Rage is still gay, I know that’s important, and that’s not changing, I made that real clear when I talked to the producers…”

“When was that?”

Brett actually looked uncomfortable for a moment. “I had to pass the changes by them. Getting Greg on the project was a huge plus, we’ve got him contracted for September.”

Contracted. It was done then. And what could he do about it? Absolutely nothing.

“But don’t worry. There are slight changes, but Rage, JT and Zephyr are essentially who they are, the movie’s just going to tell a slightly different story line than the comic does, at the end. And, most important, we’re going to be able to open for the summer line-up next year.”

Justin nodded. He stood up. There really wasn’t a lot more to ask about. 

“Anything else? How’s everything going? You enjoying California while you have some time to look around now?”

“Sure,” Justin answered. “California’s beautiful. Connor’s offered to show me some of the clubs, and I’ve gone out with Robin and Steve…”

“Huh, you should let Connor show you his side of things, he’s got VIP status, you’ll see how stars are treated. That’s the side you should be getting used to, Justin, so take advantage.” Brett flashed that smile.

Justin smiled weakly, and turned away. The characters were still who they were, the movie was just going to tell a slightly different story. Like another edition of the comic, that could work. Readers would probably want to see something besides a tired recycling of what the comic book offered. Maybe Brett was right. And Justin hadn’t allowed himself to relax and take advantage of some of the luxuries that had been offered him, that was for sure. Why shouldn’t he hang out with Connor? The guy rode in a hot car, went to the front of the line at clubs, got what he wanted, spent the money he needed for the best of everything. Sound like someone I know? Justin thought. That must be it; part of the reason he was feeling so homesick was because he missed the life he was able to live vicariously through Brian. Yeah, he definitely didn’t want to depend on it, but maybe a little indulgence in the high life would help him feel less… lost here. Less trampled on. Crossing the empty set, Justin pulled out his phone and dialed the number Connor had given him. What the hell.

 

***

“Hey, Justin!” Connor greeted him as he slid into the limo. “Glad you finally found time to fit us in!” The other two people in the limo laughed as Justin slid onto the seat next to Connor. Of course, the idea that Justin was fitting them in and not the other way around was absurd. “This is my friend Del, and this is…”

“Shannon LePrel,” Justin filled in, reaching out and shaking her hand. “I love your music.”

“You know it then?” The young woman with the ribbons braided through her streaked hair crinkled her darkly lined eyes at him. 

“I have a great reputation for being attracted to the new and hot performer right before their music takes off,” Justin told her, grinning, accepting the flute of champagne from Connor and taking a sip.

“I can see Connor’s taste in devastating young man is consistent,” Del told him.

“To say nothing of talented. Remember I told you, Justin created Rage,” Connor added.

“Actually, co-created,” Justin reminded him.

“Wow, and he gives credit instead of stealing the glory for himself!” Del saluted with his glass, before knocking its lip against the bottle Connor was holding, asking for more. 

“You definitely are an anomaly out here,” Shannon giggled. 

“Yeah, you’re not stealing or sleeping your way to the top,” Connor added, leering at Shannon. 

She laughed. “Hey, talent and sex is the recipe for success!”

“Are you developing a new album?” Justin asked. “I’d love to have more of your stuff, kind of sucks for us consumers, just twenty-two songs.”

“Twenty-two?” Del frowned. “I thought there were only fourteen tracks on that album.”

“Ah, but Justin apparently has a copy of the bootleg made when I was with the Withering Blows. Is that so?” she asked.

Justin turned somewhat red; he indeed downloaded most of his music from the internet. He should have remembered that this was a sensitive issue in the music business. 

“Don’t turn red! my god, someone who still blushes, how fresh. Not your fault, Justin, I’m flattered that apparently I have real fans who know about my turn with the WB’s.”

“Are you kidding?” Justin added, “The club I go to in Pittsburgh plays ‘Two Steps Back’ every night around one, and everybody gets up on the floor.” 

Shannon laughed. “Yeah, and that’s the only good track on that entire piece of shit release! I’m amazed you downloaded the whole thing. I’ll have you know, though, that I was reading Rage when it first came out. I love comics, especially when they follow an original storyline, gay superhero, who can resist?” 

“You’d get along great with Michael then.”

“Michael Novotny, the writer, right? Can you introduce me? I’d love to meet him if he’s around.”

“Sure,” Justin returned. 

“Uh, can we get away from this mutual admiration society?” Connor asked.

“You’re just jealous you’re not in on it,” Del returned, drawing a laugh from everyone. 

“So where are we going?” Justin asked.

“A friend of mine is having a party,” Connor answered, filling his champagne glass again. Justin vowed this would be the last of the bubbly, the stuff went right to his head. “Name’s John Poole, puts on pretty exclusive shindigs.”

“Not to everyone’s taste,” Shannon said, wrinkling her nose. “He has a variety of themes in different rooms. But there’s generally something for everyone, and a regular good ol’ drunken rock and roll party for the rest of us out back.”

“I’m just glad he’s not demanding the mask thing this time.”

“The mask thing?” Justin asked.

“Yeah, people wore this amazing, gorgeous headwear handed out when you first entered. Everyone was anonymous all night. Very interesting party,” Del said. 

“No, tonight’s pretty straightforward. Sex, drugs…”

“Rock and roll,” Shannon finished off. “I’m actually included in the invite to sing for my supper, as it were. He’s got a bunch of us coming to showcase the music we’re working on. He contacted my agent, and since I know this fucker,” she kicked at Connor, “wouldn’t bring me as a guest, I just hijacked his ride.”

“Hey,” Connor said, looking over at her archly, “John told me I could bring two beautiful boys, one gay, one straight, so I couldn’t ask a slightly off-her-rocker rocker with me, unfortunately.”

“Oh…” Shannon’s face had fallen with this last. She shook her head, gazing intently at Justin. “So you’re gay-gay. Not bi-gay? Damn it. That figures. Too bad.” 

“Not for me,” Justin grinned. 

They were all laughing as the limo stopped at the gate of John Poole’s house, got the all-clear, and pulled in.

 

***

The house was gorgeous, set in the hills over Los Angeles. Justin spent most of his first couple hours there in the huge living room with its back wall made almost entirely of glass, looking out to the back terrace where the stage was set up. Music was piped into the house from outside. Shannon was asked to perform within the hour; until then, she had stuck by Justin’s side, introducing him as “That Rage Comic Art Guy,” while he introduced her as “That Hot New Singer Girl,” to everyone they didn’t know. He was becoming increasingly drunk. He thought Daphne would love Shannon. Then again, he thought, feeling the trace of Shannon’s hand trailing down his arm as she took her leave to do the proverbial sing-for-her-supper, maybe not. Daphne would not give up official best female friend spot easily. Even when she was pissed at him. And he wouldn’t give her up, even if she was a pain in the ass. But she sure would not appreciate his enjoying anyone or anything that drew him further from Pittsburgh, PIFA, and her. And Brian.

He thrust that thought out of his head. He was here to have fun, to get away from his homesickness. It was ridiculous, anyway. The place was gorgeous, the drinks were top shelf and plentiful, the men were hot, the lights of Los Angeles spread out beneath them, stretching across the valley as if the sky had fallen and lay beneath them. And Shannon’s set blew him away; dancing with beautiful men to her music (four hard-hitting dance songs, one beautiful ballad) helped put out all of the day’s worries out of his mind. 

Connor caught up with him sometime after midnight. Justin was in conversation with a minor actor so beautiful he should have been a star. And yet the guy had nothing to say, and no discernable personality. At all. Justin had tried everything, asking him about his work, his travels, his childhood for god’s sake, and had gotten one-word replies as the kid kept looking down at Justin’s dick. Oh, hell, maybe I’ll just fuck him then, Justin thought, wondering if they could escape further into the house, when Connor showed up and dragged him away.

“Thank you,” Justin said.

“No problem,” Connor replied, throwing his arm around Justin. Justin was just drunk enough to ignore it. “Have you seen the play rooms?”

“Play rooms?” Justin asked.

“Ah, obviously you haven’t. You need the tour.” He turned and steered Justin toward the back of the house. As the music faded, Justin could hear other sounds, familiar. “Hm…” Connor said. They stood at the foot of a staircase, and Connor walked him up it. “Okay, het sex is in the rooms to the right, I don’t suppose you’re interested in that. A variety of alternates to the left, though,” he added, opening a door. They walked in. 

The lights were down, very low, with a green tinge. Naked men everywhere, doing lines of cocaine off in the corner, fucking against the wall, getting blown on the divan that dominated the center of the room. Connor gestured toward the wall to their right, where a closed door led into the next room over. “This is how it works, the four rooms along this wing open up into each other.” As if to prove this, the door in the wall opened to reveal a man exiting a room bathed in violet light just beyond. “The amusements get increasingly… intense as you go through. This room apparently is for couples who want to get it on. Would you like to see the whole thing?” 

“Sure,” Justin shrugged. Connor’s hand on his arm stroked down to the sensitive spot inside his elbow, and he felt his body respond to the familiar smell and noises around him. Couples, huh. Maybe he’d find someone more available further in. 

The violet room was for multiples. The same layout as the green room, but more interesting. A very hot man who reminded Justin of Brian was getting a blow job and rimmed at once. He thought he’d probably linger here if Connor didn’t seem so determined to pull him through. The next room was lit in orange, a toy room. Dildos, cuffs, whips, silk ropes for tying up. Not so many guys in here, just as many watching as playing. Connor and Justin paused to watch a blindfolded man on his knees servicing a man in a mask while a third ran a riding crop around the kneeling man’s hole, every so often cracking the whip across his ass, leaving a red welt where it passed. 

“Makes you wonder what’s in the last room,” Justin murmured. 

“Probably the slaves,” Connor answered.

“Slaves?” Justin asked.

“Mm… Want to see?” 

Sure, he wanted to see, what the hell. Connor had been watching Justin’s face as they wandered through the rooms, and Justin almost laughed as he thought that this was tame compared to some of these scenes he had actually participated in, back in Pittsburgh. Fucking Connor, thought he was some rube from out of nowhere or something, waiting for his eyes to widen in shock. Believe me, Justin thought, after three years with Brian, shock is just a word. 

They entered the blue room.

The room was bare of furniture. Suspended from the ceiling, in the corner to his left, and in both corners at either end of the far wall, were harnesses. Two were full, including one in the right far corner, where a very young man was suspended, younger than Justin, a boy really, surrounded by four naked men, one thrusting into him, another supporting his head, directing the kid’s mouth to his engorged cock. A third man waited, watching, rubbing his dick against the kid’s hip, watching him get fucked, while the fourth man ran his hands up the kid’s penis. “I’ll get you a drink,” Connor said, gesturing to the bar that was set up against the far wall. Justin barely managed a nod. He needed Connor to get the fuck away. Right. Now. He was frozen, that word suddenly more than a word, but not quite shock, and not quite horror either. More like… memory. He watched the kid, the harness, those guys going at him. Then he ripped his gaze away to look toward the bar, following Connor’s retreating back, to the right of the bar where the other harness held another kid, his head lolling back, his arms held up, legs spread. Obviously completely out of it. As Justin watched, two of the guys who had been standing against the bar moved out of the way to accommodate Connor. They turned their gaze from watching the group scene in the corner, spoke briefly to each other, and walked toward where the boy floated, opened, waiting for anyone who wanted him. One of the men ran his hand down the bare ankle, licking his lips. The second man unzipped his pants, and moved in closer. Justin jerked his head to the left when he heard a voice, slurred, raised above the other sounds of moans, the thumping music playing from near the bar. A man was holding yet a third kid, obviously the third slave, tugging him toward the last corner. As Justin moved closer, he saw that the kid could barely speak, but he was definitely fighting being physically overpowered by this man who was pulling him toward the last corner of the room. “N..no…” 

“Hey,” Justin said, raising his voice, “Hey!” 

The guy turned. The kid stumbled, but pulled out of the man’s grip. “Hey, good, you want to help me here?” He reached for the kid again.

But Justin had already snatched the boy’s arm, and was propelling him toward the door and then out into the hallway. The kid stumbled again, his head slumping and rolling toward his shoulder. “Hey!” the guy called, and it was the last sound Justin heard as he left the room with the kid. He started pulling him down the hall, toward the staircase. 

“Hey, Justin! What the fuck!” Connor came out of the room, and ran down the hallway to catch up. A partygoer coming up the stairs paused to look curiously at the naked boy slumping against the wall as Justin wheeled to face the big movie star. Justin glared at the curious face until the stranger shrugged and turned into a room on the right.

“Justin, you can’t just take the hired help away, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Hired help?” Justin spit out. “This kid can’t be sixteen.”

“Oh, please, I guarantee he’s way more experienced than he looks, in fact I think I’ve seen him at other parties, hired to do just this. Believe me, John hires these guys, it’s all professional, what the fuck is your problem?”

Justin was not going to discuss this with this clueless idiot who had never in his life, Justin _guaranteed_ , been in danger of ending up unwillingly in one of those contraptions, propelled there by unknown hands because he was young, broke, and clueless about the fine line that sometimes existed between business and rape. 

“Call your limo for me. I’m leaving, and I’m taking him,” Justin said, his voice barely holding his rage at bay.

“Justin, for god’s sake.”

“Look, we can do this the hard way or the easy way. Either you call your limo and I leave quietly with this kid, or I raise holy hell and call the police and an ambulance. Which do you prefer?” 

Connor did not question whether Justin was bluffing; the deadliness of the delivery spoke for itself. Connor took out his cell phone, spoke into it, and hung up. “The limo will be out in the front at the door. Send it back when you get wherever you think you’re going.”

Justin pulled the kid down the stairs, bypassing the glass-fronted area of the mansion where the main part of the party continued, spilling out down the hillside. He walked out the front door, into the limo, and directed the driver to the nearest hospital. 

***

Connor was sure to think him some hick but at this moment, almost two hours later, Justin really didn’t give a shit. He sat in the waiting area of the emergency room and waited. Nothing to do but stare at the blank walls and think. He hated hospitals, hated the smell, the sounds, the ‘squinch’ of the nurses’ rubber soles against the tiled floor, the glaring brightness everywhere. Brian had spared him this during his cancer treatment. He said he did it for himself, not telling Justin. But Justin knew that part of the reason Brian hadn’t said anything, was that he knew what it was like to sit here, in this horrible place, on the outside looking in, while someone you loved battled pain, sickness, and death alone. 

Justin still shook from the sudden adrenaline rush of his reaction when he had entered that blue room. Connor going to get him a drink, while around the room this scene played out, other men standing around, watching this horror, as if nothing were amiss. As if they had any _right_ … Fucking Christ, Justin thought. Even “fucked up” didn’t do it justice. 

He couldn’t think, he was still experiencing the purely visceral reaction that had got him through the ride down from the hills, holding the naked kid next to him and trying to warm him up, the kid puking into the ice bucket Justin held up for him, passing out while Justin tried to keep him awake, tried to ask him what he was on. If this kid’s experience was anything like Justin’s own, he would have no idea. Then the hospital, practically carrying the kid in, making up some bullshit story about finding him on the street passed out. Then sitting down and waiting. 

Brian. It was all he could think of, that familiar ache for the older man’s hand, the need to feel Brian’s presence, to close his eyes and sink into him. Justin took a deep breath. Brian can’t always be there, he reminded himself. You have to get through things on your own. Stand on your own. Figure these things out, be a man. Handle this shit, deal with your own shit. Brian can’t help you. You have to do this, you can’t always lean. Brian can’t always be there.

Yes, another voice in his head answered, but he may be there now. 

He dialed without letting himself think anymore, he needed to hear Brian’s voice, damn it. He could hate himself for giving in later.

“Hey,” the familiar voice answered on the third ring. “You getting in from the clubs?”

“Something like that,” Justin took his first really deep breath in the past hour, relieved, immediately feeling the ground under him had been restored. “Where are you?”

“You don’t want to know what I’m wearing?”

“Hm… what are you wearing?” Justin heard his voice turn to the familiar purr it fell into only for Brian, as comforting at this moment as a cool touch on a feverish brow. The woman sitting two seats down from him in the uncomfortable plastic chairs looked up from her magazine, smirked, and looked down again. 

“Well, I’d love to say nothing, but Gus is sleeping on your side of the bed at the moment, and Lindsay made me promise not to raise the boy with the mistaken notion that men don’t wear clothes at home.”

“Oh…? Is Lindsay taking the night off Gus? Is she still separated?”

“Lindsay is dating my secretary.”

“Cynthia? Are you serious?”

“Please tell me you didn’t know she was gay, too.”

“She’s bi,” Justin answered, actually feeling a small smile tug his lips at Brian’s groan and his comment that he was the last person on the planet to hear this news. “It would help, Brian, if you asked people about their personal lives.”

“Okay, I’ll do that. How is your personal life?”

Justin’s stomach dropped and his throat closed up as the night’s events crashed back in on him. “Things are not great back here,” he whispered, unable to continue.

“Tom riding your ass? Not in a good way?” 

“No,” Justin started, then closed his eyes, struggling for control.

“Justin? What’s wrong?”

He had to say something, but he wasn’t ready to speak the words; the real problem was too big, it stuck somewhere in his throat. “They’re turning Rage into a chase movie,” he said instead. 

Brian snorted. “And we know how much we love those. Except for the Hitchhiker, of course.”

“And Terminators.”

“Yeah, those too. So you couldn’t talk Brett out of mangling things, hm?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Everything is. But that’s business, the guy in charge buys the idea, and your soul is sold. So is that what’s bothering you?” Brian knew him far too well. He knew if the movie was the real problem, Justin would be angry, ready to spit, yelling about changes to his script. Not unable to speak. Brian knew something else was up. He just did.

But when it came time to open up on the rest of it, to let him know just how big this was, Justin was silent. He couldn’t. Brian didn’t know about that party at which Justin had almost been raped. And that horror still rolled around inside him; it was too big, it was too soon to address it. He hadn’t managed to process this, to get over feeling as if he had just been in a train wreck and was looking at the mangled remains he had managed to escape. He couldn’t bear to look down to see where he was bleeding, or how much. He just knew it was bad. 

“Justin.”

Justin took a deep breath. He couldn’t talk about this, he was barely holding his shit together.

“Justin, damn it, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Justin managed.

“Bullshit, something’s wrong.”

He took a deep breath. “I just… fuck.” Whispered. 

“Oh, hell, I’m not gonna do this. Are you expecting me to show how much I care by demanding you share your feelings, throw in a little begging maybe? Would that help you out? You know I don’t play that game.” 

“Fine, fuck off then!” Justin screamed into the phone, slamming it shut. The woman sitting two chairs down looked up, startled, then determinedly looked back at her magazine. 

Fuck, fuck fuck fuck fuck!!! He knew better than to call Brian in the first place, what did he expect? Justin rubbed his temples, and willed Brian to call him back, to just fucking give him a minute, to just somehow know that something was very wrong here and Justin needed him to get it. He willed the phone to ring.

It didn’t.

 

IX: _Jake_

Justin approached the front desk. The nurse who looked up at him. He asked, “Uh, miss?” She looked to be about fifty, and she raised her eyebrows at that. “Uh… hi, I came in with a young man, about three or four hours ago? I was wondering how he was doing.”

“Oh, sure. He’s awake, not too happy about it. He’ll be fine, we’re giving him a glucose iv, should be fine, bit of a hangover.”

“That’s it? Just drunk?”

“Well, he had pretty much everything under the sun in his blood tests, but he wasn’t comatose, just apparently unconscious. The doctors pumped his stomach, and he’s been sleeping it off.”

“That’s it?” 

“You were expecting more?”

“No… 

“Do you know his name?”

“No. I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

“Jenna,” she called to a young woman behind her. “Can you show this young man to exam four?” Apparently the misplaced “miss” worked some magic after all. 

Justin trailed behind the girl and entered the room after her. She smiled at him shyly, then left. Justin looked down at the kid in the bed, whose eyes were just opening. He stared at Justin. The kid started, and sat up abruptly. “Fuck!” Jesus, he looked even younger sober. He looked at Justin. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Justin. And you are…?”

“Call me Ishmael.”

“I don’t think you’re what Melville had in mind.”

“Oh, a smart one then?” the kid sneered. “Call me anything you want, just tell me what the fuck I’m doing here.”

“Well,” Justin said, crossing his arms. “I dragged you out of a party at John Poole’s house where you were about to get put in a harness and raped. You didn’t seem too pleased with the idea…”

“Poole… oh fuck!” He looked around. “Where are my clothes? My jeans? Damn it!”

“I didn’t exactly have time to collect them,” Justin said, narrowing his eyes. 

“Well, my cell phone was in them, along with two hundred down payment for the evening. Wait… harness?”

“Yeah, you don’t remember?”

The kid leaned back against the pillow, calming down. He studied Justin. “No… shit. I told Joey we shouldn’t have taken all that crap before the gig. You’d think I’d know better…” He glared up at Justin. “I’m still out five hundred bucks for three hours’ work. And fuck, not like I would have remembered it anyway.”

Justin continued to stare at him. 

“What?” the kid demanded, squirming.

“How old are you?”

“Eighteen.” 

“What year were you born?”

“1986. Don’t be an asshole, I’m eighteen. And if I had my pants with my wallet, I could prove it. Poole’s no fool…” He stopped and giggled. Then said, “You think you could get me some jeans? Or at least a pair of sweats?”

“Sure, I can pull them out of my ass,” Justin snapped. 

“Yeah, well, looks like you got a regular trunk back there… Which hospital did you say I’m in?

“I didn’t, but it’s St. Vincent’s.”

“There’s a Walmart two blocks from here. Think you can get me a pair of medium sweats, any t-shirt, medium, and a pair of flip flops? The store’s two blocks, take a right out the emergency room doors. Think you can do that for me?”

“Sure,” Justin said, “Except it’s five in the morning.”

“Open 24 hours, man.”

 

***

Justin was leaving the Walmart when he heard a sound like hissing steam to his left. He turned and saw the kid crouched down in a pair of doctor’s scrubs, leaning against the wall. “You know you cost me 500 bucks.”

“I got a deal for you,” Justin said, handing him the bag and watching him pull out the plain black t-shirt before taking off the scary green top to draw the t-shirt over his head. He took the flip-flops out of the bag next and put them on his feet. “I’ll hit an ATM, pay you three hundred bucks to make up the part you’re out, which I’ll give to you after I buy you breakfast.”

The kid eyed him. “You want to fuck me, then? That gives you an hour.”

Three hundred bucks an hour? For that scrawny ass? Yeah, right. “No,” Justin replied shortly, grabbing the kid’s arm and pulling him toward the Denny’s he saw further down the street. “I just want to talk to you.” 

“Ooh, kinky.” 

Justin figured they’d hit an ATM on the way. There were always ATM’s on the way, thank god.

 

***

He watched the kid pack away two orders of pancakes, but Justin only picked at his own blueberry waffles. They were awful, and he wasn’t hungry. His eyes felt gritty, as if sand had been blowing in his face. 

“I guess I should thank you,” the kid said as he attacked his second order of pancakes. He didn’t sound particularly grateful, but Justin figured he should take what he could get. “I don’t do that bondage shit. I make that pretty clear right up front. That was not what I signed up for.”

“But you do other things,” Justin said, watching him. 

The kid looked up, studied Justin’s face, and then relaxed at whatever he saw, or didn’t see. “Yeah, I do other things. It’s a living. Not a bad living. Not great, but a living.” His smile was not quite convincing, but then he shrugged, and stabbed his fork into his sausage. He looked up again. “Are you going to try to turn into one of those do-gooders? Turn my life around? Help me out? You don’t have a bible packed away in those hot leather pants you got on, do ya?”

“Do you want help?” Justin asked. 

The kid thought for a moment. Then he shook his head. “Nah, don’t think I do. I’m managing. I mean, you got any more money, like a thousand bucks? I wouldn’t mind that. You look like you got a thousand bucks. You’re fucking gorgeous, man, what are you, new star on the horizon?”

Justin shook his head. “Just an artist.”

“Hey, I know you get the three hundred dollar questions, but mind if I ask you one?” The kid was obviously not going to let the money go; he’d made Justin give him a hundred and show him the rest before he agreed to go to the restaurant with him. 

Justin nodded.

“Why’d you do it? Take me out of there? Why do you give a shit?”

“Because I could have been you.”

The kid started laughing, and choked on a pancake. Justin began to stand up, alarmed, but the kid waved him back down, picked up his orange juice, and got himself under control. “Seriously.” 

“Seriously,” Justin answered.

Intense grey eyes pointedly examined Justin’s silk Yves St. Laurent shirt, the one that specifically went with the leather pants. Brian had bought them for him as part of a “going to Hollywood” shopping spree. Seven outfits, one for each day of the week, Brian had said. “And I hope you know you can mix these up, so you really have a lot more possible outfits than just seven.” “Yeah, Brian, I got that.” “And don’t, for God’s sake, pair Prada with cargoes, only the Armani can carry those pieces of shit.” “YES, Brian.” 

“Yeah, right,” the kid scoffed. “Hardly a struggling artist now, though, huh? You must have yourself a nice sugar daddy to bankroll that outfit.”

“What’s your name? Really. I can’t call you Ishmael. You want personal information, you tell me your name.”

“Yeah, Ishmael is a little old fashioned for this town. Call me Jake, then.” 

“Jake. And actually, I sold some of my work recently. So I do have money of my own” 

“No sugar daddy? I know you’re not straight.”

“Well, I do have a very well-off boyfriend.” 

“Ah.” Jake plowed back into the pancakes. 

“He loves me,” Justin said softly. 

Jake shrugged. “Then you are one lucky son of a bitch. You love him?”

“Yeah.”

“Too bad for you. Always better to receive than to give. Love is leverage lost.”

Justin watched him eat. The kid’s metabolism was unbelievable. Five hours before, drunk as they come, and now this. “Jake,” he asked, getting his attention again. “How’d you end up doing this?” The waitress walked by, and Justin held up his cup. She filled it with more coffee. 

“Well, I went to this party, blacked out and woke up in the hospital, and here I am with this beautiful freak who wants to feed me and pick my brains. For three hundred bucks,” Jake added.

“No, seriously,” Justin said, leaning onto his forearms on the table. “You seem like a really nice guy. Cute, even, if you’d get some sleep and clear up those bags under your eyes.”

“Cutting back on the drinking wouldn’t kill me, either,” Jake added, finishing the second plate of pancakes. 

“Want more?” Justin asked. 

Jake shook his head and pushed the plate to the side. “Pretty usual story. I’m not from here, but who is? Nebraska is no place for gay boys. My parents are Methodists, pretty hard core. Obviously, I’m not. They probably wouldn’t have sent me to college even if I was their dream boy. People in the town I'm from don’t really have ambitions beyond the CVS cash register. Or the meth labs.”

“Would you have wanted to go to college?”

“Maybe. But it didn’t work out that way. And this is okay, for now. I mean, I make good money. Shit like last night… it’s a good reminder not to get that out of control.”

“Reminders don’t help if someone slips you something in your drink.”

“Speaking from experience?” Jake saw Justin’s face. “Oh, shit, man, I’m sorry, that’s harsh. I’ve been pretty lucky so far. Besides, I generally only drink from bottles I open myself or see opened. I’m not sure what happened at Poole’s… I don’t really plan to spend the rest of my life doing this.”

“What do you want to do?” 

Jake shrugged. “I used to play guitar, piano. Well, saxophone too. A little banjo, you know, I could pick up a few more things. I played pretty well. I know, musician’s far fetched. My music teacher wanted me to apply to some music school in Boston, he knew some people. I play with some people around here, sometimes…” he trailed off, looked away, shrugged, looked back. “Geez, sun’s coming up. I gotta go find my friends. See if they’ve rescued my pants.” He chuckled and started to slide out of the booth. 

“Hey, Jake, don’t forget your money.”

Jake reached out, his hand hovering a few inches away. “You’re a decent guy, Justin. I sure as hell would have just walked away from me, if I’d been a party guest. I almost feel like I shouldn’t take your money.” 

Justin lifted an eyebrow and kept the twenties extended. 

Jake shrugged and took the money. “You’re right, it’s a tough old world. See you round, maybe.”

“Yeah, see you.”

Jake walked out. Justin never saw him again.

***

Justin sat in the booth, drinking cup after cup of coffee for a long time. 

What had he been looking for out here? He sure as shit wasn’t finding it. 

Rage. Ah yes. But Rage the Comic was one thing. And Rage, the Movie, was turning into something quite different. 

His thoughts automatically fell back into that familiar place, back to Brian. He was here, in part, because Brian had let him go. Always letting him go. He had always been so angry at Brian for never saying the words to keep him. For not being who Justin wanted. For not extending himself, for not changing for Justin, for them. For not accommodating Justin’s desire that he speak the words, supply the props, for not creating little fanciful bubbles containing the stuff of love, like props on a stage, the clichés of sentiment, roses, champagne. Instead, letting him go, to follow his work, his dream. This time, Justin hadn’t asked. He hadn’t even bothered. He wasn't angry anymore. Just frustrated. And tired. Love's leverage lost. Good one, Jake. Justin wanted leverage. He was tired of feeling tossed about by fate, subject to other people's agendas. He needed to establish his own.

But Brian was always there to catch Justin whenever he stumbled, whenever his quest for a life faltered. He was at Justin’s back in a way no one had been once he emerged from childhood to claim his own life. Brian was there in a way his father, and not his mother, no one else had been. Not just after the Sap’s party. Justin was only at that moment, as he stared into his rapidly cooling coffee, beginning to appreciate exactly what Brian’s support meant. It allowed him to return to school, to have a place to stay while figuring things out, to have options. That’s what it was all about; it wasn’t the money, it was the options it afforded. Where would Justin be, right now, if Brian hadn’t been there for him?

Brian let him do whatever the hell he needed to do, and there he was, when Justin was done with it. Even if it meant risking Justin’s being done with him. Letting him go, over and over. 

I don’t want him to keep letting me go, he thought. I want him to hold onto me. Not too tightly, but I want to feel that touch. I need to feel Brian’s touch. And there were days, he just didn’t feel it anymore. Maybe, Justin thought, it was time he started touching back. Reaching back and touching what he knew was real, maybe not the romantic dream he’d always set in front of himself as the ideal – the fairy tale that didn’t exist. Hollywood was turning into that, all over again. He’d been seduced by a dream that seemed better than the reality of his life. When his reality was pretty damn special.

His life’s reality could easily have been similar to Jake’s. Waking up in a hospital, drugged. Almost raped. Shrugging it off, all in a night’s work. Yeah, I used to draw. Maybe one day… 

He didn’t know. He was so damn tired. He just couldn’t think clearly. 

God knew, if it weren’t for Brian, Justin would have been the hustler ideal’s poster boy. Not just because of the whole Sap fiasco, but running away to New York, too. He had been determined to shake his ass, to prove, well, something. The easiest road to easy money. He had the goods, that was for sure. And his family sure as shit wouldn’t have been able to hold onto him. Brian hadn’t let him get away with any of that, had he? Justin would probably be East Coast Jake right now if it hadn’t been for Brian, telling some guy in a diner how he’d once have dreams of being an artist. 

Brian had always given him all the possible options. “You choose where you want to be.”

Justin heard that, over and over, his stomach sinking. You choose. Brian needed to be chosen, too. 

But Rage. Rage was his, all his, in a way Brian never would be. And wasn’t that important, too? It was his creation, well, his and Michael’s. There were things worth fighting for. His dreams were on that list. 

But could he protect Rage? Could he control the way this movie was going? Brett still seemed to defer to him, but this latest script change was pure bullshit. The characters were the same… bullshit. The Movie’s characters were Brett’s, not his. 

But Brian wasn’t Rage for him anymore, either, and Justin hadn’t been able to figure out why. But he was beginning to figure it out, as the waitress poured him a fresh cup of coffee and he stirred in some milk to spare his stomach the punishment he was pouring on. Rage was both idea and ideal. For Michael, it was his dream of Brian, an even better version, because he could create and control the story as he went. For Justin, Rage was the dream too. But it wasn’t his dream of Brian anymore. Now Rage was an expression of his own possibilities as an artist. And Brian was his lover, a flesh-and-blood man. He could place his hand on Brian’s chest and feel the heart beating, feel his lips against his own, curl up in the bed he missed so much and feel the lean body curl up against his back. Rage was just an idea. Lovely in its own way, but he couldn’t hold it, and feel it holding him. It was only an idea; Brian was the real thing. 

So was this a choice? Did he need to choose between his artistic potential out here in California, and his life back in Pittsburgh? 

He was so confused. And so tired. And he wasn’t going to make any big decisions sitting here, slowly turning circles around his brain, what was functioning of it. 

And he was so late. It was almost ten; he’d been sitting here alone for over four hours, staring at his coffee. He got up to pay the bill. 

The waitress smiled at him. “Honey, believe it or not, you don’t even come close to the record for caffeine consumption. But you’ve hit the point of enough to float away.”

“What’s the top spot?” Justin asked, tipping her twenty bucks, knowing he’d taken her table for a while.

“Hey, thanks! Top spot is either convulsions, or the longest piss you’ll ever have.”

“Or both,” said the waitress behind her. Justin was laughing as he left. 

***

He went to see Brett when he got onto the set after taking a taxi across town. 

“Oh, hey, I’m glad you’re here,” Brett said after he’d hung up the phone on another call that appeared to involve pulling together his terrorism picture. Justin wondered what that was all about; obviously it was something big, but Justin really didn’t give much of a shit. He just idly noted how Rage didn’t quite seem to have all of Brett’s focus these days. “I heard from Connor who told me the story of your disappearance from John’s party. We were worried about where you were.”

“Connor doesn’t know the story,” Justin said, sitting in the chair across from Brett’s desk. 

“I’m sorry about what happened, Justin… have you been home?” he asked, noting the outfit Justin still had on. 

“No. I took the kid to breakfast. After the hospital.”

“Was he okay?”

“He’s alive,” Justin answered.

“Look, I probably could have warned you about Poole’s parties…” Brett began.

“You didn’t need to,” Justin waved his words away. “I’ve been someplace like that before. Once.”

“Oh, well… look. You shouldn’t let that upset you. Guys like those kids, well, they know what they’re doing.”

“Yeah, Jake seemed to have a good head on his shoulders.”

“Jake…” 

“That was the kid’s name. The one I took to the hospital.”

“Oh. Yeah, so you see, they know what they’re doing,” Brett continued. “It’s not like they’re pulled off the street and held against their will. They’re professionals.”

“Professionals, like us?”

Brett snorted. “Hardly like us.”

“Well, see, I don’t really see it that way, Brett. What I see is that we sell what we got. Terms are agreed upon. And then, as we do our work, compromises get made. The parameters of the party, the conditions of the shoot, keep changing. The agreement changes to accommodate changing conditions. There’s always reasons, you know, the stars OD, producers demand scenes on schedule, the guests at the party expected a little public bondage or an orgy instead of straight sex acts in private rooms. What d’ya do? You placate the hustlers, throw money around, toss your star into rehab for a quick dry-out, and go about with the business that needs to be done.” 

“Justin, we’re nothing like those kids. You’re nothing like that kid, you have the talent. The whole world’s opening up for you!”

“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Brett. I’m just like that kid. I just got lucky.”

“Luck has nothing to do with Rage, talent does.”

Justin laughed, and leaned forward. “I’m not talking about Rage, Brett, I’m talking about Brian. But if you want to talk about Rage, then maybe we should talk about the script changes, since you’re so enthusiastic about my honesty. You don’t need to encourage me to share my feelings; I can be honest.”

Brett eyed him. Shit. Justin was a valuable asset. Relatively cheap, too. There was no reason to set him off against the project. The conditions really had become difficult. He had hoped Justin would continue to work with him under unfavorable circumstances. Of course, he’d already bought the story… but no need to pull out the big guns. Well, not at the moment. “You haven’t been to sleep since last night, have you?” He took in the exhausted look on Justin’s face. “Look, it’s not that I’m not willing to discuss this. Why don’t you come back at five, after getting some sleep. We’ll be able to have a clearer discussion.”

Justin’s first thought was that Brett must be hoping he’d be more rational, at least, Brett’s idea of rational, and thus more conducive to persuasion. He’d been so cooperative to this point. And he was feeling decidedly uncooperative now. 

But the wave of exhaustion that had slowly been building in him was starting to crash. He realized that his desire to start yelling at Brett was really a desire to let out his exhaustion, rage, frustration, and confusion. And he really had made that vow last New Year’s not to be such a drama princess. To think before screaming. 

So he held his tongue. Indeed, he might not be thinking as clearly as he’d like for this particular discussion. It would not hurt to clear his head with a few hours sleep. It was nothing that wouldn’t wait. So he nodded, and said, “Yeah, you’re probably right.". Brett watched him walk out. And then Brett picked up the phone. He had a bunch of phone calls about financing “Terrorists Down.” 

 

***

The apartment manager caught up with Justin as he stumbled out of the cab. He had been unable to face walking even the half mile home from the studio. “Hey, Justin! Justin Taylor!” 

Justin turned to see Mr. Alvarez waddling toward him. “Yeah, Mr. Alvarez?” 

“I let a delivery man into your apartment. I wanted you to know, so you know I made sure nothing was taken.”

“A delivery man?”

“Yeah, it’s all good, I just wanted you to know. I stood and made sure he just delivered.” 

“What did he bring? A package?”

“No, you’ll see.” Mr. Alvarez walked away, laughing.

What the fuck? Justin thought. He was tempted to question the man more closely, but curiosity got the better of him. He walked to his apartment, put the key in the door, and swung it open. Then he stepped inside.

His jaw dropped. There had to be hundreds, maybe a thousand, flowers, everywhere. Yellow and white roses, all in clear glass vases, on every surface, crowding the window ledge, into the bathroom. On the counters in the kitchen, on the shitty little table, on the chair, a fleet of bouquets in clear vases, the yellow and white flowers blooming across his tiny room as in a field. He could see the floor only where the small path was cleared; the delivery person had left a path winding from the kitchen area, and into the living area, over to the futon covered in yellow and white petals, the odd flower thrown here and there. And on the pillow, a perfect calla lily, Justin’s favorite flower, with a single red rose lying across it. He walked across the room, drawn by the bright, anomalous color, a beacon through the sea of yellow and white. 

He thought, for a split second, that maybe Brett had done this, but it was too soon after their confrontation. And besides, only one person was capable of this kind of over-the-top, obscene, ridiculous, inconvenient-bordering-on-comedic display. Only Brian could both give in and give the finger at the same time. The perfect ironic statement saying ‘I love you’ and ‘Fuck you,’ both at the same time. 

The card was near the flowers on the pillow. Justin sat down on the mattress, picked up the red rose, and opened the envelope to take out the card inside. 

“Chase scenes blow. How about a starring role in my porno instead?" 

Justin stared at the message. Then he started laughing.

 

X: _The Road Less Travelled_

Brian was becoming increasingly nervous. Not that he would admit that. 

He had taken the day off. Well, it was a Saturday. And last night had been hell, in fact, that had been the reason for this whole ridiculous situation in the first place. He’d been working at 10:30 in the evening with no end in sight, a Friday night for fuck’s sake. Lindsay had dropped Gus off since she and Cynthia were off on a date, so he had ended up playing with Gus instead of getting work done. What in god’s name had he imagined he was doing, setting up those two women? What was the classic Seinfeld expression? Worlds colliding? He could only imagine the discussions they were having. If they were talking at all… shudder, ugh, ack, run away from that mental picture…

Okay, there really wasn’t much of an excuse for losing his shit where Justin was concerned. He had been glad for the phone call at first, even if all that work waited for him. Owning your own business was more work than being a partner in one. But definitely worth it. Some nights, though, it really dragged out. Especially Fridays. 

When Justin had started complaining about the movie, that was fine, he could relate. Maybe if he pulled the discussion in another direction, he could get some hot phone sex going here, much more interesting than a mutual bitch session. Fuck, he wanted… But no, listening to Justin struggle with his little project was fine. When it became obvious something more drastic was up, Brian had been fairly straight to the point. He wanted to get whatever drama queen moment was coming out of the way. He hadn’t exactly shifted out of work mode at that point, but he was close, and had naturally reacted like a completely impatient prick. Par for the course, just ask Ted. 

Fuck. 

It wasn’t really his, Brian’s, fault. If anyone’s fault, it was Justin’s, damn it. It was his fault Brian now had a baseball player fronting Brown Athletic when he could have had a New York Knick. Everyone knew basketball was the hottest sport these days. At the time, he’d reasoned he’d chosen baseball over basketball because Kinnetic needed to focus on a sport that tended to be less scandal-ridden, and thus a safer bet after the close call with that fuckup Drew. And Leo Brown loved baseball. But if he were honest with himself, he knew, he’d chosen Buzz because Buzz was in California. 

Shit, even he couldn’t spin the blame game on this one. 

But that didn’t mean he about to go chasing Justin’s ass out that way again, tossing work aside, making decisions based on where his boyfriend was hanging out at any given moment. So when Justin had suddenly gotten choked up in mid-conversation, and Brian had felt the sudden desire to hop on a plane the second his lover whimpered, he had snapped. Okay, maybe he had been a little harsh. Or maybe a lot harsh.

Brian had tried to just put it aside and get back to work. But that nauseated feeling, what the fuck? He couldn’t work with it. He’d grabbed some ice water, which hadn’t helped, Pepcid, nothing. Couldn’t drink himself silly, he really had to finish this project. Finally, he’d given up, given in, got up on line and placed that ridiculous order. Impulsive, really. Then he had called to cancel twenty minutes later, and somehow ended up giving more specific instructions. 

The whole thing had been stupid. 

And then it was Saturday, and he took Gus back to Lindsay’s, and went to the gym, and got the new weight trainer to blow him. It hadn’t been great, but what the hell. Gone home, gotten some leftover paperwork done, not really work, but it filled the void. Watched some really bad t.v., and then “The Good, the Bad and the Ugly” just because. Took a call from Mikey, who said they all hadn’t been out together in too long. So planned to meet the guys at the diner at 10 p.m., grab something to eat, hit Woody’s at 11. All day, coasting, routine without thinking. Same old Saturday shit. And here he was, sitting in the corner of a booth at the diner, Emmett and Ted across from him, Mikey and Ben in the booth behind them. Drinking water, not really hungry. Not being nervous. Not waiting for a call that hadn’t come. 

Maybe Justin hadn’t gotten back to his room yet. Who knew what the hell was going on? Fuck if Brian knew, if Justin wouldn’t tell him. He did not play Twenty Questions. Maybe it was something else. So maybe… he would just go through his jaunt through the clubs, and then maybe, maybe he’d think about tracking Justin down. A couple of drinks might help facilitate his willingness to do that. Being told to fuck off had really… honestly? Worried him. There. He’d thought it. Justin hadn’t told him to fuck off since, well, that Hobbes shit. So maybe he was worried. 

Shouldn’t he have heard from Justin by now? Maybe something was really, really wrong. Maybe he should call him, now instead of later. Maybe he should have called him earlier. 

Damn it, no. That impulsive gesture, shit. What, was he going to get on his knees, next? No way, not even for activities more interesting than begging. He’d need to see a lot of bending over by one blond twink ass to help balance the scales after that ridiculously romantic gesture. If Justin knew what was good for them… uh, good for him, he’d be the one dropping to his knees, giving up that ass ASAP. Brian had stooped low enough. 

He knew Justin was physically fine anyway, he had been talking about the movie, nothing else seemed wrong. And then, boom, out of the clear blue, total freak out. Maybe Brian had lost his temper a little too quickly; maybe he’d pushed Justin a little too much. Or a lot too much. Okay, obviously trying to push Justin at all at that moment had been a slight miscalculation. 

So what, to counter that stupidity, he’d gone right off the other end, dropping right off into the other extreme? Justin would probably see this as a sarcastic mockery, wouldn’t he? Well, of course he would. Brian Kinney did not do romance. Ever. And besides, a bouquet was romantic. A virtual garden’s worth… yeah, just a bit off the deep end. 

This is why he didn’t do emotions, he obviously had no idea what the fuck he was doing. You’d think Justin would have figured that out by now, and would have stopped trying to get Brian to use a faculty that just didn’t function properly in him. Not that Justin had asked him for much of anything recently. Hm, that was true, wasn’t it? What was up with that? 

“Brian. Brian!” 

Brian looked over to where Michael was leaning over the booth, in the space between Emmett and Ted. “Hey, did you hear they’re having the Pecs of Steel competition at midnight? Do you think that guy we were checking out the other night at Woody’s’ll be in it?”

“Oh, yeah, that guy,” Brian said sarcastically. 

Emmett had twisted slightly, leaned back, and was stabbing at Michael’s hand with his fork. “Do you mind, personal space? I’m trying to eat here.” 

Michael moved a bit sideways, but still hung over the back of the booth 

“So, anyway,” Emmett continued around a bite of chicken Kiev. What passed for chicken Kiev. “I hired this waiter for the party who looked just like Greta Garbo? Only, about seven inches on her.”

“In all the right places,” Ted added.

“Huh,” Emmett chortled. “Let me tell the story! This party, I had all the greats there, Lana Turner, Greta Garbo, Brigitte Bardot, Clara Bow, no Marilyn though, she was declared too tacky.”

“As opposed to Bardot,” Brian commented.

“Shush, you! The customer’s always right. So anyway, Greta was a bottom, who’d have thought that! Nothing but she would have it so. There we were, cleaning up after the party, all the guests had gone home, the hostess was in the kitchen, and Greta leans over to me, and whispers, ‘So, darling, are you going to fuck me my tip or not?’” Emmett’s Garbo was perfectly rendered.

“And of course you did,” Michael added.

“No, my dear, I did not. I am a professional. I would not fuck in a customer’s house while there on a professional basis.”

“Unless you’re working as a naked maid.”

“Or going by to pick up the check.” 

“Or maybe if he’s just hotter than the job.”

“I didn’t realize Emmett was versatile?” Ben put in his two cents.

Emmett turned red. “Well, anyway, I was professional that night.”

“Garbo never was your thing.” Ted summed up the reason Emmett wouldn’t fuck the guy in the walk-in.

“No, Garbo’s fine, but he was so… I don’t know, I got the feeling he’d just lie there. And any self-respecting receiver knows, that just won’t do.” 

“So you fucked him after you were off premises,” Brian stated, impatient with the story already.

“Yes, well…” Emmett’s attention was grabbed by something outside the booth. “Well, well.” Ted was suddenly smiling, and Michael sported a puzzled squint.

And Justin was dropping his bag under the booth, and sliding next to where Brian’s feet were propped up on the seat of the booth. “Hey.” 

“Hey…” They stared at each other for just a second. Then Brian leaned forward, reached out with one hand and grabbed the front of Justin’s t-shirt to haul him forward. Brian’s right leg slid off the booth as he opened the space between his legs, and clutched at Justin’s hip with his other hand to pull his entire body over, settling Justin against him and zeroing in on those lips. Then he paused, and his eyes shifted off the deep red to look up into light blue, but Justin only smirked, and at that look, any conversation could wait anyway, and Brian reached for that ever-present pout, bringing their mouths together, and no talking, good, even better, lips in connection, mouths and tongues in electrifying contact and not yammering at each other, so good, so close, closer. Justin braced himself with one hand on Brian’s chest as his left foot slid onto the floor and he almost fell with the eagerness of the other man’s final pull forward as Brian’s hand moved off Justin’s hip and onto his ass, pressing him upwards. Lips, tongue, scent, all were not enough, he was going for full body contact, and he got it. Justin ripped his mouth away. “I’m gonna fall under the table,” he gasped.

“That’s okay, Justin, he’ll follow you,” Ted put in.

“Yeah, but then we wouldn’t get to watch,” Emmett complained, gesturing with his knife. “Use your knees, scoot that butt up.” 

Brian would have glared, but he was too busy taking Emmett’s advice and lifting said butt onto his thigh so Justin’s knees had a better purchase straddling his hips. He brought Justin’s arms up around his neck, settling his own around his boyfriend’s waist, pulling him in. Then they were kissing again. This went on. 

And on. 

“Justin. Justin,” Michael called, unable to get his attention.

“Give them twenty minutes,” Ben told him. “Better yet, try tomorrow.”

“Are you kidding?” Emmett called over the booth. “Try Monday.” 

“But we’re going out tonight!” 

Ted snorted. “What’s this ‘we’ shit, paleface? I’m not sure those two are going to make it out of that corner.”

Debbie had walked over, and stood there, watching for a minute. “Hey, Sunshine, you here for a visit, or you staying?” she asked. 

Justin lifted his head, and Brian’s teeth promptly took his ear lobe. He yelped. “Staying,” was all he managed to get out, before Brian nudged his face back in the place he wanted it. Justin gladly gave back in, squirming as he felt Brian’s dick, hard under him. His own had responded to the first kiss. His breath was turning ragged, and then he started to pull air into that deep place in his chest, the movement of his hips unconsciously responding as his body moved into the singular beat. Shit, this was getting too intense.

Brian didn’t care. He squeezed his arms around Justin’s waist and released, falling into the unconscious rhythm, just wanting him closer, closer than this. 

“Jesus, I always joked about it, but I think they might actually fuck in the booth.” Deb stared. Everyone in the diner had turned to watch the two men move from making out to something far more primitive. 

“Yeah, like that’s never happened,” Michael replied, turning back to Ben, crossing his arms across his chest and rolling his eyes. 

Ben raised his eyebrows. “Would you like to leave these two to it, and stroll over to Woody’s for a drink at least?”

“Yeah, definitely. Pecs of Steel await, you guys ready?” Michael replied. Emmett and Ted looked at each other, surprised. They would have expected Michael to bag the whole evening, but he was sliding out of the booth and shaking his head at Ben. Ted put in, “I’m up for a game of pool, but Babylon’s out for me.”

Ben smiled down at Michael. “Think I have a shot at winning the competition?”

“Oh, absolutely, baby,” Emmett answered as the four walked out of the diner. 

“Michael?” Ben asked as they walked out.

“Are you kidding? I’ll be the consort of the best chest in Pittsburg! How can I pass on that?”

Back at the table, Debbie said, “Uh, guys. As good as you are for drawing in customers…” As she spoke, several men came into the diner to watch, nodding and grinning as they passed the booth at which Brian and Justin were, uh, sitting. Debbie repeated, her voice firmer, “Boys.” 

Finally, Justin pushed off of Brian’s chest, and turned around to look over at Debbie. Brian nuzzled his neck. Justin felt a shiver race down his spine, but he held Brian off, turning the whole way around to see what Debbie wanted. Brian arms went around his waist, and he hauled his butt firmly into his lap, putting his head on Justin’s shoulder. 

Deb smiled down at them. “You two…” Brian was actually smiling back, who’d have thought? For just a moment, then he started kissing Justin’s neck again.

“How’s Carl?” Justin asked. 

“Good, thanks for the postcards, Sunshine, we loved them. Well, I loved them, Carl was a little embarrassed by naked men making out on Rodeo Drive.”

“Yeah, I liked that one.”

“They got postcards?” Brian asked.

“You got phone sex,” Justin shot back.

“Geez, I’d definitely prefer that,” Deb responded. “So when’d you decided to come back?”

“I walked into my apartment at 10:30 this morning after being out all night. I decided about two minutes after that. In fact,” Justin continued, grabbing Brian’s hand and scooting out of the seat while dragging Brian out after him, “I came here straight from the airport. Can we go home?” He turned around, and Brian leaned down to kiss him again. Then he grabbed Justin’s bag and propelled him toward the door, plastered against his back, Justin’s arm reaching around to pull him up to his side, and they were through the door and hurrying off. 

 

***

They didn’t speak the whole race home which was fine with Justin, who was exhausted, and Brian, who was thinking of speech only as some odd foreign concept he’d probably dread if he decided to grace it with his consideration. Out of the car, up the elevator, into the loft, bag dropped, keys tossed, and Justin slammed against the loft door as Brian dropped to his knees to pull his pants down for him. “Uh…” Justin breathed as Brian’s mouth took him with no preliminaries. 

 

***

Later, in bed, Brian chuckled. “A few measly blooms, and you come running. Behold his mighty hand!” Brian deepened his voice to threw in the necessary gravelly tone for the last bit. He had decided to grab the proverbial bull by the horns once he’d re-familiarized himself with the other function his tongue was good for. But they needed to get this discussion out of the way. Brian stared up at the ceiling as Justin propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at him. 

Justin shook his head. “This isn’t the Ten Commandments, and you aren’t Charlton Heston.” Brian glanced up with an eyebrow cocked. “Yes, you are indeed better looking. Although Charlton Heston on the raft in a ragged loincloth and chains after the battle scene in Spartucus…” 

Brian smacked him. “That was Ben Hur, dolt, Spartucus was Tony Curtis.” 

“And I didn’t come running because of those flowers,” Justin went on, ignoring the last, “I actually felt bad leaving them behind, they were beautiful.” Mr. Alvarez had said he could arrange for them to be sent to the local hospitals. And his wife worked at a shelter. They would be lovely there. He'd kept the red rose, and the calla lily. He planned to dry them out, and keep them forever, as a reminder. But Brian didn't need to know that. “Why’d you send them?”

Brian hesitated. He had expected Justin to supply his reasons for him, so he could just deny everything while enjoying the results. “Took care of my ever needing to do it again. And you won’t expect me to repeat that one.” 

But Justin was shaking his head. “No, seriously.”

“You mean you haven’t figured it all out to your satisfaction in that diabolical head of yours?”

“I’m not doing it for you anymore, Brian.”

That sounded serious. “What, no more rim jobs?”

“Uh… I hope that’s a joke. No, I’m not filling in your blanks anymore.”

“Blanks… I have blanks?”

“Yeah, the part where you act from the heart and expect me to fill in the blank of your true motive because you’re talking shit? That. I’m not doing that anymore. I have enough blanks of my own to work on, I really don’t have the time or energy for yours.”

“I hardly ask you to do any of that.” Brian had curled his brow upward and twisted his mouth.

“Maybe not, but you expect me to.” Justin continued to stare down at Brian’s face, waiting for him to meet his eyes. He wondered if he would feel this level of equanimity if he weren’t so exhausted that he felt he had entered another plane of existence, but Brian’s scowl didn’t bother him at all. Justin had thought about this on the plane, when he wasn’t dozing. Besides, he had decided to return to Pittsburgh not because of Brian’s gesture alone, but because of a lot of things. He wanted to be sure this was clear. “Why did you send the flowers, Brian?”

Brian tossed a forearm over his eyes and laughed. Justin knew that laugh, the I-can’t-believe-you’re-actually-asking-me-this laugh. This was Justin’s cue to push Brian on the arm, to say he understood, to let him off the hook, somehow. 

But Justin remained silent. Brian dropped his arm to look up at the young man staring down at him. An enigmatic smile played on the lips hovering just over him. Brian’s eyes shifted.

“No sex either, talk to me first,” Justin commanded.

Groan. “Oh, I can come up with all kinds of things to say to you…”

“Not sex, Brian. Why’d you send ’em? It’s not a contest, it’s a question.” He waited. Nothing. “Fine, if you don’t want to answer me, I can really catch up on my sleep…” He started to roll onto his back.

Brian pounced on him. “You’d actually withhold sex?”

“What are you talking about?” Justin rolled his eyes. Good god, sometimes, dealing with this… “You call the last four hours withholding sex? I’ve had like three hours of sleep in the past two days. I’m in this weird twilight zone. But I still roused enough to go at it with you for hours.” 

Brian relaxed his body to cover Justin’s. He lay his head down on his chest. Justin was enjoying the feeling of floating, his head cushioned on the wonderful goosedown pillow, his favorite flesh blanket covering him…

There was a mumbling sound by his sternum. 

“What? Brian?”

“I said I wanted you home.” 

Justin touched Brian’s shoulder, and ran his hand up through Brian’s hair. He could feel Brian’s breath, warm on his skin. In the quiet that followed Brian’s words, Justin fell into a deep sleep. 

***

And was awoken by pounding on the door. “Brian! Open up! I gotta talk to Justin!” Pound pound pound…

Justin blinked his eyes open and looked over at Brian, who was raising himself on an elbow and squinting into the sunlight. A sound like steam escaped his lips. “What the fuck…”

“What time is it?” Justin mumbled, glancing around, finally settling on the clock. Noon. He yawned, stood up, and walked into the bathroom. Brian pulled on a pair of jeans and walked across the room to open the door, letting Michael in. Michael didn’t even greet Brian, just barged past him toward the bedroom. 

“Good morning,” Brian said sarcastically, and then he shut the door with a slam. 

“Justin! Justin, damn it, come on out.”

“Jesus, Michael,” Justin answered, opening the door and talking around his toothbrush. “Give me a minute.” He shut the door again.

Brian shook his head as Michael gravitated back into the kitchen area, where Brian poured coffee beans into the grinder. 

“Did you know that Brett…” Michael began, but Brian pressed down on the grinder, and its horrendous whining filled the room. When Brian let up to shake the grounds in the mill, Michael tried again. “Did you know…” Brian pressed down on the lever again, and the noise again drowned Michael out. Finally, the whirring wound down. 

Justin had walked into the kitchen by this time, tugging a red shirt over his head. Brian smoothed down his partner's bedhead as he walked by, on the way to the fridge. 

“Justin.”

“Hm?”

“Justin!”

“WHAT Michael?” Justin closed the refrigerator and leaned against the door, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Do you know Brett’s been trying to call you since last night? Apparently, someone had a meeting scheduled that he never showed up for.” This last was directed at Brian, who raised an eyebrow, wondering what the fuck he had to do with it. 

“Yeah, a meeting that I demanded in the first place,” Justin answered. “And yeah, I know he was trying to contact me, that’s why I turned my phone off.” 

Michael stared at him, his jaws clenched. “Why’d you come back here then?”

Brian absolutely hated it when Michael got this way, beating around the bush, never getting to the point. 

Justin seemed quite used to this, though. “Is the coffee done yet? You know, I just woke up,” he complained. Brian turned to get a couple of mugs.

“Want some, Mikey?”

“No, I’ve been up since nine.” 

“Why don’t you all hang out in the living room and I’ll bring you coffee when it’s done.” That was directed toward Justin, who understood immediately that Brian was not in the mood for this. Shit, who was?

Justin nodded, and moved toward the living room. Michael frowned at Brian, then trailed in Justin’s wake.

“I figured I’d send an email to Brett to let him know I’ll call him tomorrow, after I’ve had a chance to sleep.”

“And figure a few things out?” Michael prodded. “Like, when you’re going back?”

“So he called you? What’d he say?”

“Not a lot, just wondered if I’d heard from you because you were supposed to meet him yesterday. I told him you were in Pittsburgh, and he seemed…”

“What? Surprised?”

“No, not surprised at all.”

Justin grimaced and shook his head. “That figures.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Not a lot. In fact, a whole lot of nothing was happening. Alan OD’d…”

“We heard that was exhaustion!”

“Well, it wasn’t. There were set delays, and Brett wasn’t telling me, but I heard the budget is going through the roof…”

“So you just left?”

Brian leaned over the back of the couch and held out a cup of coffee. “Here you go, dear,” he said, in his mocking falsetto. 

“Thank you, honey,” Justin answered with a grin. 

“Ahem,” Michael cleared his throat. 

“What, you want some now?” Brian asked.

“No, I want to get back to the point.” 

“Which is?” Justin asked, sipping at his coffee. Brian moved over to the computer, and sat down to check email. 

Michael leaned forward. “Your not being out there.”

“It was counterproductive to my goals,” Justin said dryly. He thought he heard a snort from behind him, but he kept his attention on Michael.

“Brett seems to really need you there!”

“No, he doesn’t, believe me.”

“Well, what about me!”

Ah, thought Justin, there it is. “What about you, Michael?” he asked carefully. 

“Rage is all I have! If you’re not out there to watch our interests, who will?”

“It’s too late, Michael we sold the story rights. Brett wasn’t consulting me at all anymore…”

“But he still wanted you,” Michael interrupted. His voice was low, the way it got when he was saying something that had been hanging around, unsaid, for god knows how long. Justin’s eyebrows went up. “Yup, he still wanted you, you go out to Hollywood, things aren’t exactly the way you want and you come running home. Art school lets you back in, and you go crying off at how they suck because they didn’t lay out the goddamn red carpet. I didn’t even get a chance to go to school, for fuck’s sake! Don’t you ever know what you have! Even with Brian you keep treating him like he’s a time share…”

Brian called from behind them, “Some of the best sex happens in time shares, Mikey. And for the record, I’m also the duplex, condo, vacation home, and primary residence. And I aspire to be a pied-a-terre. Just so’s you know.”

Thank god he’s in the mood to joke about this, Justin thought. He was grateful to be given a second to pull his thoughts together around this attack. 

Michael ignored Brian, to round back toward Justin. “You get this great chance not just to sell our comic to Hollywood, but to actually go out there and safeguard it, and here you are, right back here. Well, what did I expect!”

“Michael, you have no idea what you’re talking about. They were turning Rage into a chase movie!”

“And what were you doing about it!”

“There was nothing I could do about it! You have no idea what the hell you’re talking about!”

“I know I would never in a million years have any of the chances in life you keep throwing away!”

“You know something, _Mikey,_ ” Justin said, slamming his cup down on the coffee table, “Maybe you’ve just been lucky enough not to have to deal with the kind of crap I have, but I’ll give you a real life demonstration at exactly how good I am at walking away from bullshit.” And he stood up and marched toward the door. 

“Hey,” Brian called, and tossed him a cell phone. Justin caught it, put it in his pocket and left, slamming the door behind him.

Brian stretched, unfolded his long frame from the chair, stood, and picked up his mug to bring it to the living area and sit in the spot Justin had just vacated. He looked at Michael.

“What?” Michael bit off.

“What was that all about?” Brian asked mildly, placing a coaster under the mug Justin had left behind. 

“Don’t give me that, you heard,” Michael answered, looking away. “It wasn’t about you.”

“It is when you just chased off my afternoon plans.”

“So go to the gym, or the baths.”

Brian shook his head. “Mikey, Mikey…”

“What?” Michael demanded. “Great, so now he got bored with his latest amusement, and it’s bad enough I barely see you as it is, but he’s walked away from probably the only big thing in my life! Sure, he has opportunities dropping from trees, but this is a big deal for us poor schmucks!” 

Brian took a long sip of his coffee, moved Justin’s cup to the side and put his own cup down on the vacated coaster. Then he rested his hands on his stomach, and turned a deceptively casual gaze on the smaller man,. “Are you jealous?”

“It’s not that! It’s that… He has everything! He has art school on a stick, Hollywood waiting for him, and…” Michael stopped, clamped his mouth shut. 

“Me?”

“He walks in and out of your life like it’s vacation land,” Michael replied. “It has nothing to do with jealousy, Brian, maybe it’s because I’m not just handed these things like he is, I actually appreciate what those opportunities mean, I mean, you’re my best friend… What?” Brian had started to smile. “What’s that smirk for?”

“Well, let me ask you something. How’d Ben do in the Pecs competition last night?”

“You heard us talking about that? I’m surprised your face wasn’t too busy getting sucked off…”

“Michael.”

“Oh, fine. Well, he won. Of course he won! Ben’s got the best pecs in Pittsburgh, and you should have seen the guys he had to beat out. Swear to god, they had to get into a chest pumping competition…”

Brian held up a hand. “So, you had fun, huh?”

“Sure.”

“And who did you go to Water World with last week? And who tagged along to the comic book explosion…”

“Symposium.”

“Whatever.”

“Yeah, well, Hunter pretended not to dig it, but he did. And Ben actually found some rare illustrated Lovecraft…”

“You have a great time with Ben, don’t you?”

“Well, of course I do, he’s my husband.”

“So why do you keep insisting that I’m your best friend?”

Michael was silent, staring at his friend’s face, searching for something other than what he saw there. “Brian…”

But Brian was shaking his head. “Don’t. Just… let it go, okay? It’s okay. We’re great friends, and we always will be.”

But Michael’s eyes were filling with tears. “If it’s okay, why do you insist on making a big deal out of it?”

Brian bit his lower lip. “Things aren’t as easy for Justin as you think. You grew up surrounded by people who protected you.”

“People like you.”

“When I was there. And your mother. And you both protected me, when you could. And, when you got out of school, you had a job that was safe. I’m not saying that to belittle you, you know I’m not. It’s just different from what Justin has in front of him, and behind him. He is brilliant, you know. When he almost lost the raw talent he’d been given…” Brian paused, and cleared his throat. “But he’s different. You got a family that always accepted you for who you were. Justin didn’t get that.”

“His mother accepts him.”

“Now. But she had to learn to do that. Justin doesn’t have the security a kid gets when his parents gives him acceptance from birth.”

Michael’s mouth twisted. “And it’s even worse when your parents never accept you.” Before Brian could deflect, Michael continued, “So you watch out for him. The way you used to watch out for me.”

“We watch out for each other. I know you don’t get that.”

“No, I do. I get it. You need each other.” Michael continued to watch Brian’s face, but Brian had turned away, and bent forward to pick up the mugs. He stood and walked into the kitchen. 

Michael trailed behind him. “I’m sorry, Brian…”

“Sorry’s bullshit, Mikey.”

“Yeah, maybe I should just apologize to Justin.”

“Didn’t you hear?” Brian poured another mug of coffee. “He’s had enough bullshit in his life.”

“Well, at least I can go get back your afternoon delight.”

“Now that might be appreciated, but,” Brian added, walking Michael to the door and opening it, “That’s why I tossed him the phone.” 

“You’re a great friend, Brian, to whatever degree,” Michael said, walking into the hallway, before turning to look back and smile. 

“Yeah, it’s a curse.” Then Brian slid the door shut and leaned against it for a moment, shaking his head. Justin had his cell phone. Brian walked over to the bed, and stared around. Where the fuck would Justin keep his own mobile... pants? Now, where had they thrown those last night? Brian turned around, frowned at the living room, until he spotted a piece of clothing over by the loft door. Ah. He retraced his steps, intent on the pockets of Justin's clothing. Time to track the boy down, get his ass back to the loft, naked and in bed, where he belonged, at least for today. 

 

XI: _Adjustments_

“Justin!” Daphne flung herself out of the doorway and into his arms. He barely managed an “umf” as she hit him, and felt himself engulfed in a hug that threatened not to let him go. 

“Uh, Daph, want to introduce me?”

She finally stepped back and into the apartment, clutching his arm. “Oh, Justin, this is Rich,” she said, gesturing toward the young man sitting on the couch. He stood, and Justin could see that he was gorgeous. Tall, dark hair. Looked like a swimmer’s build, yup, Daphne loved that. Who didn’t?

“Hi,” Justin said, moving forward to shake Rich’s hand. “Nice to meet you. How do you know Daphne?” It was a natural question, but Justin immediately kicked himself mentally. They were both wearing sweat pants, and wrinkled t-shirts. No shoes. Or socks, for that matter.

Rich let go of his hand after giving it a firm shake. “Well…” he paused as he glanced over at Daphne. “Holy god, girl, are you blushing? Well, I was going to say we’re shagging like rabbits, but since Daph seems embarrassed, I guess I’ll settle for ‘we’re seeing each other.’”

Oh, man, that accent. How did Daphne find this guy? 

Daphne made a strangling noise. Justin burst out laughing. Oh, he was going to like Rich.

Rich smiled. “We met at the bookstore. She was grumbling about buying econ books, I was buying Adam Smith for light reading. She decided she needed a tutor, I decided she needed…”

“RICH!!!”

Rich shook his head. “You’d think a girl would appreciate her boyfriends bonding…” 

Daphne didn’t know who to hit first. She settled for a glare at Rich and a whack at Justin, who rubbed his arm and complained, “What did I do?” before she plopped down on the couch. “Okay, so sit! Why are you back? And when are you going to tell me despite that shitty reply, I was right in my email? And why aren’t you at Brian’s… I mean, your place?”

“Um…” Justin flopped down on the floor. “Let’s see… Rage was hijacked by delays and a bad plot revision, you were right in your email but excuse me, that was a lucky guess…”

“You need to finish school,” Daphne insisted. 

“And as for why I’m not at Brian’s… Michael’s there.”

“Oh…” Daphne’s brow darkened.

Justin turned to Rich. “Michael’s my boyfriend’s…”

“Best friend, yeah, I’ve got the 411 on the whole situation. Believe me, if there was video, she would have run it by me.”

“There is video,” Daphne said dryly. “I just haven’t gotten my hands on a copy. Yet.” 

Justin scowled at his friend. “My life is not a soap opera for your voyeuristic fantasies.”

“Of course it is. And the first time Rich pisses me off, you’re going to have a front row to the sitcom of my life.”

“As long as there’s an open snack bar.” 

“Hey!” Rich seemed to have an issue with this.

Daphne turned and puckered her lips to blow an air kiss at him. Rich shook his head. Justin watched this, thinking, maybe this one has a chance with the girl. Bout time. 

She turned back to the young man sitting on the floor. “So Michael…”

“I swear to god, Daphne, if Brian hadn’t been there, I would have thrown Michael out the window. He came over to yell at me for abandoning the film before he even heard what was going on, before I could defend myself at all. Not that he would care anyway. Seriously, six floors, and I wouldn’t have opened the window first, give him some good glass cuts as an introduction to the drop.”

“Brian would have killed you,” Daphne said.

Rich added, “Throwing the guy to his death isn’t exactly good manners.”

“I meant for breaking the window,” Daphne clarified.

Justin laughed, and it felt good; he knew he came here for a reason. And then Beethoven went off in his pocket. He took the phone out; the display read, “Justin.” Brian was calling from his own phone. Justin answered the call and greeted, “Brian Kinney, God’s gift.” Daphne looked at him funny; he pointed to the cell and mouthed, “his phone,” before turning his attention to the demanding voice on the other end.

“Hi, this is the twat, where the fuck is my boyfriend?”

Justin’s grin got wider. “Do you know your phone is programmed on ‘Ode to Joy’ for my calls?”

“…”

“…”

“I just threw different rings on for different names. Had no idea.”

“So, it’s just a coincidence your phone rings ‘Joy’ when I call.” 

“…”

“Kind of convenient that I would never have known.”

“Justin…”

“I’m at Daphne’s.”

“Yeah, I figured. I’m out front, get your ass down here.”

Justin hung up, went to the window and looked down. He sighed, and turned back to the other two. “I’m becoming predictable.”

Daphne closed the distance and hugged him again. “So don’t be a stranger, stop by anytime.”

“Might want to call first,” Rich added, “I hear you’re allergic to hetero sex.”

“Not exactly,” Justin replied. Obviously, Daphne hadn’t told Rich EVERYTHING. He shook his head at her. “Gotta go. Stop by the loft, Daph. I’m just hanging out for a couple weeks.”

“And then…?”

“And then we’ll see.”

“Fine. Tell Brian I said hi,” Daphne finished, and shut the door behind him. 

 

***

He slid into the passenger side of the corvette and exchanged phones with Brian.

“How’d you get to Daphne’s so fast?”

“You have your car service on speed dial.”

“You snooped in my phone?” Brian glanced over his shoulder, and pulled away from the curb. 

“Um… I was just walking, and needed distraction…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Justin watched out the window, Pittsburgh going by. Pittsburgh again. He hadn’t really absorbed this yet. He was back. 

At least it was summer.

“You shouldn’t have left.”

Justin glanced back. Brian was staring at the road. “I know. But… I don’t know, going to California seemed like it would have done things for me. How was I supposed to know between the delays and the fact that an assistant art director has absolutely nothing to do with art, and then fucking Connor dragging me to that party with the boys in bondage that brought back The Sap’s go-go boy nightmare special…”

“I meant you shouldn’t have left the loft. A half-hour ago. And of course you should have gone to Hollywood, it was something you wanted to do for yourself. How’d you know whether it was the right thing unless you pursued it? What do you mean, the Sap’s go-go boy nightmare?”

“Uh… not important. Your point first. That I shouldn’t have left the loft?”

Brian completely ignored that. Of course. “What go-go boys in bondage?”

Silence.

“Justin.”

Justin sighed. “Friday night, Connor dragged me to this party. Well, not exactly dragged, it was in one of those houses in the hills, really beautiful, overlooking the city. It had a this series of backrooms, relatively tame, until you got to the fourth, which had semi-conscious boys in harnesses.”

Brian made a disgusted sound. 

“Yeah, all totally out of it. One was protesting being pulled toward the last hook-up by this really skeezy guy. So I intercepted him, took him out of the party. I ended up taking him to the hospital after he puked all over the back of the limo and starting shaking all over. That’s where I called you from, the hospital. I was pretty freaked out, so I wasn’t exactly… I know I made that New Year’s resolution not to pull the drama princess thing so much…” He tried to make a joke.

“You’re allowed,” Brian responded tersely. “What does the Sap have to do with it?”

“Remember when I accepted tuition from you? After you got in from being in jail with Michael.”

Brian pulled the car into the parking garage. He parked in his space, cut the engine, and turned to face Justin, who was staring at the blank cement wall. “Yeah.” Apparently Justin had heard the story of his boring, painful night. Apparently, he had not heard about Justin’s night. Brian tapped him on the shoulder, and Justin looked over, smiled, but not very brightly. He took Brian’s hand, and held it loosely.

“That after hours party Sap wanted me to go to. Walking into that room the other night was like walking into that party all over again. Only at Sap’s party I was not a guest. More like a drugged out party favor.”

Brian put his hand on Justin’s neck to stroke the skin. “What happened?” 

“I kicked someone in something painful, maybe the Sap, I hope it was him, knee, dick, who knows. Then I got the fuck out. Passed out in the alley behind the building and woke up next to a rat. It could have been a lot worse.”

Brian watched Justin for a moment. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was embarrassed. For being so stupid. I felt… weak. I didn’t want you to think I was just some kid who couldn’t take care of himself. You know, though, that kid I took out of the party Friday, well, yesterday morning, I took him to breakfast after the hospital. He was a nice kid, just shit luck. I realized, that could just as easily have been me.” He leaned across the space between the seats, put his hand on Brian’s cheek. “You’ve always given me all the options to be anything I choose. When I walked into that flower garden waiting for me in my apartment… well, I realized that just because you’ve always given me enough rope, doesn’t mean I have to keep hanging myself with it.” He leaned forward and kissed his partner, softly at first, then more deeply. Then he pulled back. “Now your turn, what were you saying?”

Brian had no idea what Justin was talking about, and besides he didn’t give a shit anyway, who cared? Blah blah blah… far more interesting were those lips… but Justin was pulling back. “Brian! C’mon, I shared, your turn.”

The gear shift was poking him in the hip, damn it. “Share? Where did you learn that filthy word?”

“That’s it? Nothing else to say?”

“Yeah, unless you want me to fuck you so hard we set off all the car alarms down here, I suggest you get your ass back into the loft.”

Justin exited the car; two doors slammed and they raced toward the garage entrance. 

“And this wouldn’t have been an issue…” Brian said to him as they entered the building, “if you hadn’t left the loft in the first place. It’s your home, Justin. If Michael pisses you off, kick him out.”

“But he’s your friend.”

“Yeah, and you’re my partner.” The elevator slid open, and Brian grabbed Justin by the arm and dragged him in, hit the button for the sixth floor, then pulled him up against his chest. “It’s more important to me that you feel comfortable in our home. Especially since I was looking forward to you sucking me off as soon as Mikey got the fuck out.” He slid his hands up under Justin’s shirt, slid them around to the small of his back, and pulled their pelvises together, sliding his hands into the waistband of his pants and squeezing the soft flesh there. Justin reached for his neck, but Brian reared out of his grasp. “No, uh uh, you’re going to have to follow my directions, you’ve been very, very bad, running away like that. Teach you to make me come after you…”

“So I guess me getting to fuck you’s right out of the question?”

Brian just laughed, and spun him around so Justin’s back was to his chest. Brian slid his hands down the front of Justin’s cargoes, then pushed him toward the door as they reached their floor. He murmured into his ear, “Maybe, if you’re very, very good…”

They walked out of the elevator, Brian’s hard-on urging Justin in front of him, Justin craning his neck around to try to get Brian to relent and whining when he couldn’t reach the taller man’s mouth, Brian trying to look severe, but unable to keep from laughing down at Justin’s shameless puppy-eyed look.

Brian’s sister watched them come out of the elevator, in the few seconds before they saw her. She had been sitting on the floor, and stood as they emerged. Brian saw her first and his face froze. Justin frowned, instantly detecting the change in demeanor, and turned his head to see Claire watching them. Brian’s hands slid up to his waist, and he pressed him back with his forearms now wrapped around Justin’s mid-section. “Claire. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I was hoping you would let me talk to you.”

“Well. Seeing as I’m planning to fuck my boyfriend senseless, I would say, how about never?”

“Brian, please.” 

Please. From his sister. Fuck, from anyone in his family. He nudged Justin toward the door, allowing him to slip out of his grasp and open the door with his key. Gesturing at his sister, he followed her in. 

“What do you want?” he asked, right to the point, crossing to the kitchen and opening the refrigerator door. He grabbed a beer. 

Justin reached across his waist to take out a bottle of water. “Would you like something, Claire?” Justin asked.

Oh, fuck, did he have to be polite? 

“Actually, do you have another water? Justin, right?”

Justin nodded at her, and then began to move away. 

“Don’t,” Brian said to him, and Justin halted on his way toward the bedroom. He looked back, confused. Brian just shook his head at him. 

“Can we sit?” Claire asked. 

“Must we?” Brian answered.

Oh, hell, Justin thought, what the fuck do I do about this? Well, that was fairly easy. Make it as easy as possible on Brian. 

“How about the couch?” Justin suggested. Claire moved in that direction, to sit on the chair at a corner angle. Brian draped himself across the couch, gestured at Justin for join him. He grabbed Justin by the hips, and sat him down on his lap. Justin sighed and leaned back, giving in. Brian’s arms came around his waist, tight. 

“What do you want?” Brian demanded of his sister. His hand slipped under Justin’s shirt, stroking his stomach. Fuck, Justin thought, he’s going to fondle me right here in front of Claire… shit, I really wish this didn’t feel so good.

Claire did not bat an eye. “I came to apologize.” 

Brian’s eyebrows shot to the top of the forehead. “For what? Believing your brother would rape your son?”

Claire visibly winced. “Yes, to begin with. Brian, I am so sorry I went along with that. I didn’t really believe it, but John made sure Mom was there, he already knew that game, when he told me, and the thing just took on a life of its own. Before I knew it, Mom had called the police…”

Brian started sucking on Justin’s neck, and Claire finally began to look uncomfortable. Justin twisted his head around to shake it, and then slid down to sit on the floor. Brian’s hand moved to his shoulder, and Justin reached up with his own to intertwine their fingers. 

“Fine, is that it? I really have better things to do…” Brian’s other hand moved into Justin’s hair. 

“No… oh, shit, this is hard. I quit drinking.”

“Oh, fuck, is this like an amends thing?”

“So, you’re familiar with the idea?”

“Yeah, seems to be quite the thing these days.”

“Well. Things were real messed up. But after that whole damn day… it was a pretty bad 24 hours. You don’t know… but it’s hard, Brian, you don’t know. Being single with three kids, I really felt like I had no options…” 

Brian just stared at her. 

Justin said, “Quitting anything like that is hard.”

“Yeah, it is,” Claire rushed in, with a grateful smile for the opening. “After that disaster, and a couple other things… well, I realized, Mom is getting really bad. I mean, she was always pretty religious, but she’s gone off the deep end. She’s either in drunk or in church, or both. And she’s mean. She’s so mean! I realized I was on my way to doing the same thing, only with me, it was more like drinking and Mom. And look at what was happening to John.” She snorted a laugh, without humor. “I just wanted you to know. Quitting drinking wasn’t enough, I moved away from Mom, and made clear she can’t come around if she’s been drinking. I took the boys out of that Catholic school and put them in public school. John’s so much happier, he’s doing really good at sports, and he has to keep his grades up to stay in.”

“What, football I suppose?” Justin noticed that Brian’s mockery did not have quite the earlier edge to it. 

“No, actually, track.” Claire smiled briefly, then her face grew weary again. “Mostly, though, I’m sorry I didn’t do anything to help you out, all those years ago, growing up. I thought I was just protecting myself, but I wasn’t even doing that.” 

“It’s over, Claire. I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I see that,” Claire finished, smiling very slightly at Justin. “I was putting this off for a while. But Mom, one night, she called me, really drunk of course, yelling about how she’d done nothing to deserve us as children, and she said that God had cursed you with cancer. Oh, Brian, I didn’t know. But that’s when I realized, that maybe I didn’t have all the time in the world to fix any of this…”

“They caught it. I’m fine.” 

“Really?”

“Yeah. Cancer free. Despite what our mother would love to think, I’m not Sodom and Gomorrah redux.”

“Good.” Claire leaned forward. “I’ll let you get back to your afternoon, I’m sorry I interrupted.” She stood. “Thank you for letting me speak to you. You certainly didn’t have to.” She walked toward the door.

“Hey, whatever works for you,” Brian said, his words curiously flat. “Justin, can you make sure the door is locked behind her? And then come back here.”

Justin went to close the loft up. Claire stood waiting for the elevator; she looked over her shoulder at the young man framed in the doorway. She smiled at him, an uncertain smile that looked so out of place on her face. Justin returned it, and Claire’s smile turned more certain. Wow, Justin thought as he slid the door shut, she isn’t that unattractive. Well, with those genes…

He walked back to the couch. Brian’s entire length was sprawled out on the cushions. He had kicked off his shoes and taken off his socks. “Come here,” he said, softly. Justin walked toward him, and as he rounded the end of the couch by Brian’s feet, Brian told him, “Stop.” He halted. “Take off your shirt. Slowly.” Justin crossed his arms and took the hem of his shirt in his fingers, and slowly drew it over his head, letting it drop to the floor. “Run your hands up through your hair, I’m glad you’re letting it grow all the way back, did I tell you?”

Justin felt his own hands as if they were the touch of another’s, and the coil of desire, sparked with Brian’s hands on his stomach in front of his sister, spun outward. “I thought…”

“Don’t speak. Unbutton yourself. Slow” 

Justin lowered his hands to the button fly on his cargoes, and undid the buttons, slowly, sliding each out of the slit, feeling the metal slick through the fabric against his finger. His breathing began to pick up. His hands brushed against his cock; he trailed his right hand against its surface under the material of the pants. 

“Don’t touch yourself yet. Slide your pants to the floor, and step out of them. You’re not wearing underwear, are you? No. Good.”

Justin stepped out of his pants, and stood, naked, watching Brian watch him. Brian said, “Come here.” 

Justin walked the length of the couch. Brian held up a hand, and touched his hip, stopping him. He pulled his hand back, and then extended his index finger alone, running it down Justin’s hip, to his thigh, watching his finger trail down the pale skin. He looked up, his gaze taking in knees, thighs, penis, hips, stomach, chest, arms, shoulders, neck, face… “Straddle me.” 

Justin complied, his knees on either side of Brian’s pelvis. Brian reached up and held Justin’s hip bones in his hands, gently, stroking the skin around the small of his back with his long fingers. Justin moved his hands toward Brian’s face, but Brian shook his head. “Don’t touch. Unzip me.” 

The eroticism of sitting on his fully clothed lover’s lap while bare and exposed, and unable to touch, had Justin’s cock reaching out even as he was denied. His hands were shaking as he slid the zipper down.

“Expose me.” 

Jeans slid down hips until Brian’s dick sprang out, hard, ready. Justin rubbed himself forward.

“Don’t. Get a condom. Put it on me.” 

Justin reached under the coach for the box of supplies that was always there, took out a condom. He took it out, started it off on top, then leaned down, and rolled the rest of it down with his mouth.

“Ungh… Sit up. Lube… Now, impale yourself. Slow.”

So slowly. Brian reached over his head, and grasped the armrest of the couch in his hands, forcing himself to stillness as Justin let himself down by centimeters. At last, as far as he could go, Brian trailed his gaze up the body over him, to meet Justin’s eyes with his own. “Slow,” he said, his voice a whisper, and Justin began to move, the slowness of the motion dragging his cock against the cotton of Brian’s shirt, the merest drag against skin where the fabric pulled up against the lowered waistband of his jeans… and still Brian did not move, his eyes watching the face of the man above him, teeth sinking into his lower lip, body still, receiving the sensation of Justin’s slowly rocking hips. 

“Brian…” Justin groaned, his hands moving toward the chest under him.

“Put your hands on your thighs. Slower…” 

An excruciating drawing out of desire, he did not know how long, just a spinning out of that coil to timeless, heightened sensation, and when Justin was sure he was going to implode, collapse in on himself with the staving off of release, Brian let out something close to a groan, and grabbed Justin’s hips at the top of an undulation, bringing him back down hard even as Brian’s back arched off the couch and his dick slammed upward, once, twice, three times before he froze with his body in a perfect arc that lifted Justin over his hips, and he was coming hard, with a guttural gasp swallowed in the back of his throat. Justin fell across his lover’s chest with his own climax. Quiet hands resting lightly on Justin’s back, and Justin reached out to finally touch, unbuttoning the shirt beneath him, exposing the skin for his cheek to lay down on, against the rise and fall of Brian’s chest. 

“We gotta stop letting people in,” Brian finally said. Justin looked up at him, and laughed quietly, dropping his forehead back downward.

 

XII: _Starting Over_

“So, what are you doing with your day?” Brian asked Justin, coming up behind him and running his hands through still-damp hair. Ah, yes, why do showers have to run cold? And why do work weeks have to begin? Brian leaned in and pressed his chin against the top of Justin’s head, a pressure almost painful. Justin ducked out from beneath it and turned his head to the side, trying to focus on the computer, while a telling smile tugged at his lips. Brian drew his breath in sharply. Holy fuck, what that boy does to me, just sitting there… but wasn’t it the point that he was there? Oh, yeah, definitely, fuck it, home where he belonged. And it felt right, Brian hadn’t felt quite right with Justin across the country. Doomed, he thought, I’m so doomed. But he was smiling as he thought it. Who knew that giving up and giving in would be such… well, so okay?

Justin finally turned away from the web site he was examining, smiling upwards and reaching out to yank at the knot in his boyfriend’s tie. “I have a few things to take care of. Then, I thought I’d come by your place for lunch.”

“Where are you taking me?” Brian asked, straightening up and glancing around for the briefcase he’d left… there, by the door. Wow, smart of him, right where it should be. 

“Anywhere you wanna go baby,” Justin drawled.

“Funny boy,” Brian breathed. “Be careful what you promise…”

“Words to live by,” Justin thought to himself as he watched Brian’s back, and the door closing behind him. He turned back to PIFA’s home page, noting that one of the professors he wanted to see had summer office hours. For the other three, he dashed off quick email messages, before shutting the computer down. Eight a.m. What in god’s name was he doing up at this hellish hour? Except that he was jazzed with the idea of getting started, and hey, an early morning shower with Brian was always a fabulous way to start the day, week, month, year, life. 

And he had things to take care of.

He swiveled in the chair, and watched the early morning sun flood through the windows into the loft, and thought of how he could set up an easel over where the light bounced back, so the corner almost glowed with its reflected glory. Or maybe PIFA would let him have some studio space now, before fall classes began. He was looking forward to going back to school, settling in, having time for his art again. He crossed his hands over his stomach, and relaxed. The whole day stretched out, and he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Home. Right up to walking into the diner and back into Brian’s embrace Saturday night, right up to that point, he had felt so unsettled. Ever since the elections, getting kicked out of school… oh, hell, ever since not being able to graduate because he had been in a coma. Or since coming out, for that matter, running away from home… he hadn’t had a place he felt he belonged since taking his first steps out of childhood and into this man’s life. But now, watching sunbeams fall over the hard wood of the loft floors, imagining his ongoing work over there, against the window… lingering in his memory over the day before when everyone was finally gone and he and Brian had spent the rest of the day naked, lounging. And not lounging. He glanced into the bedroom, looked at the sketch of naked Brian where it hung, over the dresser, and smiled. Home. Home at last.

***

The bell over the comic shop door rang as Justin pushed his way in. It was just before 11:00; the shop was more or less empty prior to the usual lunch hour business. Michael looked up from the cash register, his lips thinning as he spotted who had entered. “Hey,” was all he said.

“Hi, I have to call Brett. Thought I’d do it from here.”

“Don’t let me interfere with your life,” Michael bit off, throwing the comic he had been looking at aside.

“Don’t be an asshole, Michael, what’s your problem?”

That stopped Michael, and he went still. He just looked over at Justin, and said nothing. Justin could see he had his thinking face on, considering, do I speak or not? Of course, Justin knew, Michael’s speaking was a foregone conclusion. It would come out eventually, sooner or later. So Justin continued, pressing for sooner. “Is it just me? Or is it Brian too? Come on, you seem to have enough to say when Brian’s around. Or is your bitching just for his benefit?”

“My first loyalty is to him,” Michael finally said. “Not to you. And to be honest, you have this fucked up way of jumping from spot to spot, looking for the softest cushion for that giant ass of yours to land on. I swear, the second anything gets rough, off you go, and if we’re lucky, so lucky for us, you may grace us with your presence again. If the next landing spot has proved disappointing, back you run.”

“It isn’t like that. And anyway, if Brian’s okay with it, why aren’t you?”

“He isn’t! He lets you go because what the fuck else is he supposed to do? You know he’s not one for holding people with guilt, he had too much of that crap from his own family. And besides, it helps him believe that he has some control over the whole situation, like he has a choice in what you do when he ‘lets’ you go off. He’s completely helpless to stop you, and you keep disappearing on him.” 

“I do not. I may have been in California, but I didn’t leave him. So again, what’s your problem? Are you still in love with him?”

Michael laughed. “You know, Brian accused me of the same thing when you left yesterday. Jealousy.”

Really? Justin’s eyebrows shot up.

“But you’re both wrong, and you both piss me off.” Michael came out from behind the counter, then leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. “Brian’s as close to me, if not closer, than a brother. That kind of tightness, you don’t just find it, it finds you, and I’m grateful every day that I have a friend in my life like him. He’s there, he’s solid. Despite what he says. And watching him pretend, even to himself, maybe especially to himself, that what he feels for you doesn’t rip him apart sometimes, and there’s nothing I can do about it… What can I do? Get mad at him for loving you? Or get angry at you for not taking better care with him?” Michael glared at the younger man standing across from him.

“Yeah, well, if I’m so awful for him, why does he stay with me?”

“Oh, we all know he also feels things on the other side of the spectrum, things he didn’t until you came into the picture. He may think that balances things out, but I don’t see it that way.”

Ode to Joy, Justin thought. He shows me how he feels, every day. He said, “I can’t answer this to your satisfaction right now, not in a way you’ll believe, and actually, Michael, I don’t give a shit if you believe me or not. I love him, and you’re just going to have to back off both of us, okay? Maybe in time you’ll see it, and stop hopping all over my case.”

“We’ll see,” Michael answered. “We’ll see.” They stared at each other, acknowledging an impasse. Then Michael picked up the comic he had thrown down, and put it back into the display next to the register. “So,” he continued, offering a truce in so many words, “What have you been up to since getting back?”

Justin replied, “I just got back from PIFA. One of my professors is giving me credit for the class I was suspended from, as long as I turn in the final project. I’m pretty sure I can work the same arrangement for the other three classes, since they were paid in full, and I have a year to make up the incompletes. And the rest of the summer to finish the work. And as of one hour ago, I’m also registered for fall courses. And paid up for the year, with Rage movie money.” 

Michael studied his face, and a small smile touched his lips. “Good for you.”

“Now, do you mind if I call Brett from the phone in back? And that will take care of my whole day’s ‘to do’ list. Except for lunch with The Man.”

“Yeah, hang on…” Michael crossed the room and locked the door, drawing the “Closed” sign down. “Five minutes won’t kill me.” He looked around, and shook his head. “Obviously.” 

They called Brett from the speaker phone in Michael’s back room. 

“Hey, Brett, Justin Taylor. Michael’s here with me.”

“Hey, Michael, I see you found the stray. Talking some sense into him?”

“No, I think Justin’s sense has nothing to do with me.”

“Hm, sounds ominous.”

“Yeah, Brett, listen. The whole movie thing just wasn’t working out for me. It was a great opportunity, don’t get me wrong. But it just wasn’t working out the way I’d hoped.”

“Tom’s going to shit, you were one of the best assistants he ever had.” 

Justin almost laughed. Man, he had been there, and still. The bullshit never stops flowing, he thought, but he only answered, “Yeah, well, I’m sure he’ll have no problem replacing me.”

“I’m not sure I’m gonna be able to replace you, Justin. We’re scheduled to start shooting tomorrow, Alan’s back on the set.”

“Well, hey, if you need consulting work for anything, Michael and I are both a phone call away. And Michael’s the best one to consult on the reworking of the story board. You got the whole look down, my contribution would be minimal from here on out, anyway. And… I’ve got things to work on back here, instead of wasting time hanging out at parties with Connor.” 

Silence for a moment from the other end. “Yeah, I guess I can understand that… well, look, I’m gonna run. I’m sure I’ll be in touch with you guys, keep you up to date.” 

“Yeah, you do that,” Justin said.

“See ya, Brett,” Michael closed, and hit the off button. He frowned down at the telephone, then looked up at Justin. “Uh… that was weird. Did we agree to anything? Or was that, not in this lifetime?” 

Justin burst out laughing. “Welcome to the world I just walked out of! Who the fuck knows?” 

“So, do you think Rage is ever going to actually show up on the screen?”

“Once again, who knows? Do you care?”

“Well, more money would be nice… and actually, speaking of making more money, the buzz on the movie being in the works has spiked interest in the comic. Orders are way up. So I was thinking, we get at least two more issues out before the movie, because what if it’s a bomb? Then sales will tank. So we should get the new readers hooked on a couple more issues, or at least sell a bunch before the movie comes out. If it ever does.” 

Justin shook his head, trying to keep up with the logic. Okay, so Michael wasn’t a complete fool. Actually, he was pretty slick when he felt he had something at stake.

“So, for the next issue…” And Michael was off, and they were back on more familiar ground, which was just fine with Justin, who was already imagining how to work in Rage actually sending flowers to JT. Maybe Rage could teleport the two of them to Giverny, the garden of Monet’s Japanese bridge, and they could make love in a grove of yellow and white roses with the bridge in the distance… He started laughing. Brian would kill him. It had to be done. 

“Something funny?” Michael asked.

“Oh, just an idea. Tell me if this is too off character. Or if I’d survive publication…”

***

Through the windows of Brian’s office, Justin caught a glimpse of an angry Melanie. So that explained Cynthia’s absence from her desk. “Hey, Mel,” he said, as he pushed through the door. 

Melanie straightened and glanced over at Justin. “Oh, hello, Justin. How are you?”

Wow, formal, Justin thought. 

Brian wasn’t deterred from the conversation Justin had obviously interrupted, however. “It isn’t my fault you’ve moved a ready-made family into your house to replace the one you’d just gotten rid of. If Lindsay’s dating my assistant, hey. You want it fixed, fix it, but don’t forget that you put that barrier there yourself.” 

“And you did nothing to help,” Melanie spat back. 

“Why should I?” Brian returned. “I have a lunch date, you’ll have to excuse me. Fix your own life.” He turned to Justin, who came over, into his arms to be squeezed. “I’ve got my own shit to deal with. We’re not done missing each other yet.” He sat back in his chair, pulling Justin with him. “So, unless you want to witness some heavy petting…”

Melanie fled, and Justin extracted himself to sit on the desk. He didn’t like sitting on Brian’s lap in his office, it made him feel so… trivialized. Brian placed his hands on Justin’s knees, tapping out a rhythm. “So… lunch?” Brian was eyeing the bulge facing him at close to eye level. 

Justin answered, “So, I’m shit to be dealt with?”

Brian looked up at him with ridiculously flirtatious eyes. “Skipped right over the missing each other, heavy petting parts, hm. You really are too focused on the negative, Sunshine.”

“Okay, fine… you missed me, then? How much?” 

Brian continued to tap out a beat on his knees, a strange smile playing over his mouth. 

“Brian?”

The taps settled down, and Brian’s fingers smoothed tiny paths up and down Justin’s knees, running onto his thighs, tracing the tender flesh on the inside of his legs. Justin could feel himself start to respond to this and almost groaned, damn, not in the office. “Brian…” 

Brian looked up, and bit his lower lip before he released it, looking, really looking into Justin’s gaze. “You know,” he said. He hesitated. Justin knew when to keep his mouth shut; he waited. Brian took a deep breath as his gaze shifted off somewhere past the far wall, and then he let it out as his eyes came back to meet Justin’s. “I think I might be in love with you.” He cocked his head to the side, considered that, and then said, “I’ve been looking for the right words for how I feel. But… they just don’t seem quite enough for what you do to me.” And then he stopped. 

Justin’s breath stilled as his chest filled with something else, something unnamed. He slid off the desk, and against the other man’s body, suddenly completely unconcerned with where they were. “They’ll do,” Justin replied, and he kissed him.

 

The End


End file.
